T. 


THE   SNOW-BURNER 


HENRY        OYEN 


OF  CALIF.   tIBSm.    LOS 


THE 

SNOW-BURNER 


BY 

HENRY  OYEN 

"AUTHOR  OF  "THE  MAN-TRAIL" 


NEW  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,  1916, 
BY  GEOBGB  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


PRINTED   IN  THB  UNITED  STATES  OF  AMERICA 
COPYRIGHT  IQI4,  IQIS,  BY  THE  RIDGWAY  COMPANY 


CONTENTS 


PART  ONE:  THE  NATURAL  MAN 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

I.  "HELP!" 9 

II.  THE  GIRL 16 

III.  TOPPY  GETS  A  JOB at 

IV.  "HELL-CAMP"  REIVERS 31 

V.  TOPPY  OVERHEARS  A  CONVERSATION    ...  39 

VI.  "NICE  BOY!" 44 

VII.  THE  SNOW-BURNER'S  CREED 51 

VIII.  TOPPY  WORKS 62 

IX.  A  FRESH  START 67 

X.  THE  DUEL  BEGINS 74 

XI.  "HELL-CAMP"  COURT 77 

XII.  TOPPY'S  FIRST  MOVE 94 

XIII.  REIVERS  REPLIES 100 

XIV.  " JOKER  AND  DEUCES  WILD" 106 

XV.  THE  WAY  OF  THE  SNOW-BURNER  ....  115 

XVI.  THE  SCREWS  TIGHTEN        .      .      ....      .      .131 

XVII.  TILLY'S  WARNING 139 

XVIII.  "CANNY  BY  NATURE" 145 

XIX.  THE  FIGHT 150 

XX.  TOPPY'S  WAY .  162 

XXI.  THE  END  OF  THE  Boss .165 


2131873 


6  Contents 

PART  TWO:  THE  SUPER  MAN 

CHAPTER  PAGE 

XXII.  THE  CHEATING  OF  THE  RIVER       ....    175 

XXIII.  THE  GIRL  WHO  WAS  NOT  AFRAID      .      .      .183 

XXIV.  THE  WOMAN'S  WAY i93 

XXV.    GOLD! 202 

XXVI.  THE  LOOK  IN  A  WOMAN'S  EYES    .      .      .      .212 

XXVII.    ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  FORTUNE 219 

XXVIII.    THE  SNOW-BURNER  HUNTS 229 

XXIX.    THE  WHITE  MAN'S  WILL 233 

XXX.    ANY  MEANS  TO  AN  END 238 

XXXI.    THE  SQUAW-MAN 241 

XXXII.  THE  SCORN  OF  A  PURE  WOMAN     .      .      .      .245 

XXXIII.  SHANTY  MOIR 251 

XXXIV.  THE  BARGAIN 256 

XXXV.    THE  TEST  OF  THE  BOTTLE 261 

XXXVI.  THE  SNOW- BURNER  BEGINS  TO  WEAKEN   .      .    265 

XXXVII.    INTO  THE  JAWS  OF  THE  BEAR 270 

XXXVIII.    MACGREGOR  ROY 277 

XXXIX.    JAMES  MACGREGOR' s  STORY 283 

XL.  THE  WHITE  MAN  s  SENTIMENT      .      .            -293 

XLI.  SHANTY-MOIR-TEMPERANCE  ADVOCATE        .      .    301 

XLII.  THE  SNOW-BURNER  WORKS  FOR  Two        .      .    305 

XLIII.  "THE  PENALTY  OF  A  WHITE  MAN'S  MIND"    .    309 

XLIV.  THE  MADNESS  OF  "HELL-CAMP"  REIVERS      .    316 

XLV.  A  SURPRISE  FOR  SHANTY  MOIR      .      .      .      .320 

XL VI.    A  FIGHT  THAT  WAS  A  FIGHT 327 

XLVII.    THE  SNOW-BURNER  PAYS 332 


PART  ONE:  THE  NATURAL  MAN 


PART  ONE:  THE  NATURAL  MAN 

CHAPTER  I 
"HELP!" 

THE  brisk  November  sunrise,  breaking  over  the 
dark  ^jack-pines,  lighted  up  the  dozen  snow- 
covered  frame  buildings  comprising  the  so-called  town 
of  Rail  Head,  and  presently  reached  in  through  the 
uncurtained  windows  of  the  Northern  Light  saloon, 
where  it  shone  upon  the  curly  head  of  young  Toppy 
Treplin  as,  pillowed  on  his  crossed  forearms,  it  lay 
in  repose  on  one  of  the  saloon  tables. 

It  was  a  sad,  strange  place  to  find  Toppy  Treplin, 
one-time  All- American  halfback,  but  for  the  last  four 
years  all-around  moneyed  loafer  and  waster.  Rail 
Head  was  far  from  the  beaten  path.  It  lay  at  the 
end  of  sixty  miles  of  narrow-gauge  track  that  ram- 
bled westward  into  the  Big  Woods  from  the  Iron 
Range  Railroad  line,  and  it  consisted  mainly  of  a 
box-car  depot,  an  alleged  hotel  and  six  saloons — 
none  of  the  latter  being  in  any  too  good  repute  with 
the  better  element  round  about. 

The  existence  of  the  saloons  might  have  explained 
Toppy's  presence  in  Rail  Head  had  their  character 
and  wares  been  of  a  nature  to  attract  one  of  his 
critical  tastes;  but  in  reality  Toppy  was  there  because 
the  Iron  Range  Limited,  bearing  Harvey  Buncombe's 
private  hunting-car,  had  stopped  for  a  moment  the 

9 


io  The  Snow-Burner 

night  before  out  where  the  narrow-gauge  met  the 
Iron  Range  Railroad  tracks. 

Toppy,  at  that  fated  moment,  was  out  on  the  ob- 
servation platform  alone.  There  had  been  a  row  and 
Toppy  had  rushed  out  in  a  black  rage.  Within,  the 
car  reeked  with  the  mingled  odours  of  cigarette-smoke 
and  spilled  champagne.  Out  of  doors  the  first  snow- 
fall of  the  season,  faintly  tinted  by  a  newly  risen 
moon,  lay  unmarked,  undefiled. 

A  girl — small,  young,  brisk  and  business-like — 
alighted  from  the  car  ahead  and  walked  swiftly  across 
the  station  platform  to  the  narrow-gauge  train  that 
stood  waiting.  The  anger  and  champagne  raging  in 
him  had  moved  Toppy  to  one  of  those  wild  pranks 
which  had  made  his  name  among  his  fellows  synony- 
mous with  irresponsibility. 

He  would  get  away  from  it  all,  away  from  Harvey 
Buncombe  and  his  champagne,  and  all  that  sort  of 
thing.  He  would  show  them! 

Toppy  had  stepped  off.  The  Limited  suddenly 
glided  away.  Toppy  lurched  over  to  the  narrow- 
gauge,  and  that  was  the  last  thing  he  had  remembered 
of  that  memorable  night. 

As  the  sun  now  revealed  him,  Mr.  Robert  Love  joy 
Treplin,  in  spite  of  his  deplorable  condition,  was  a 
figure  to  win  attention  of  a  not  entirely  unfavourable 
sort.  Still  clad  in  mackinaw  and  hunting-clothes,  his 
two  hundred  pounds  of  bone  and  muscle  and  just 
a  little  too  much  fat  were  sprawled  picturesquely  over 
the  chair  and  table,  the  six-foot  gracefulness  of  him 
being  obvious  despite  his  rough  apparel  and  awkward 
position. 

His  cap  had  fallen  off  and  the  sun  glinted  on  a 
head  of  boyish  brown  curls.  It  was  only  in  the  lazy, 
good-natured  face,  puffy  and  loose-lipped,  that  one 
might  read  how  recklessly  Toppy  Treplin  had  lived 


"Help!"  ii 

since  achieving  his  football  honours  four  years  be- 
fore. 

The  sun  crept  up  and  found  his  eyes,  and  Toppy 
stirred.  Slowly,  even  painfully,  he  raised  his  head 
from  the  table  and  looked  around  him.  The  crude- 
ness  of  his  surroundings  made  him  sit  up  with  a  start. 
He  looked  first  out  of  the  window  at  the  snow-covered 
"street."  Across  the  way  he  saw  a  small,  unpainted 
building  bearing  a  scraggly  sign,  "Hotel."  Beyond 
this  the  jack-pines  loomed  in  a  solid  wall. 

Toppy  shuddered.  He  turned  his  face  toward  the 
man  behind  the  bar,  who  had  been  regarding  him 
for  some  time  with  a  look  of  mingled  surprise  and 
amusement.  Toppy  shuddered  again. 

The  man  was  a  half-breed,  and  he  wore  a  red  wool- 
len shirt.  Worse,  there  was  not  a  sign  of  a  mirror 
behind  the  bar.  It  was  distressing. 

"Good  morning,  brother,"  said  Toppy,  concealing 
his  repugnance.  "Might  I  ask  you  for  a  little  informa- 
tion this  pleasant  morning?" 

The  half-breed  grinned  appreciatively  but  sceptic- 
ally. 

"Little  drink,  I  guess  you  mean,  don't  you?"  said 
he.  "Go  'head." 

Toppy  bowed  courteously. 

"Thank  you,  brother,  thank  you.  I  am  sorely 
puzzled  about  two  little  matters — where  am  I  anyway, 
and  if  so,  how  did  I  get  here?" 

The  grin  on  the  half-breed's  face  broadened.  He 
pointed  at  the  table  in  front  of  Toppy. 

"You  been  sleeping  there  since  'bout  midnight  las' 
night,"  he  exclaimed. 

Toppy  waved  his  left  hand  to  indicate  his  displeas- 
ure at  the  inadequacy  of  the  bartender's  reply. 

"Obvious,  my  dear  Watson,  obvious,"  he  said.  "I 
know  that  I'm  at  this  table,  because  here  I  am;  and 


12  The  Snow-Burner 

I  know  I've  been  sleeping  here  because  I  just  woke 
up.  Let's  broaden  the  range  of  our  information. 
What  town  is  this,  if  it  is  a  town,  and  if  it  is,  how 
did  I  happen  to  come  here,  may  I  ask?" 

The  half-breed's  grin  disappeared,  gradually  to  give 
place  to  an  expression  of  amazement. 

"You  mean  to  say  you  come  to  this  town  and  don't 
know  what  town  it  is?"  he  demanded.  "Then  why 
you  come?  What  you  do  here?" 

Toppy's  brow  corrugated  in  an  expression  of  deep 
puzzlement. 

"That's  another  thing  that's  rather  puzzling,  too, 
brother,"  he  replied.  "Why  did  I  come?  I'd  like 
to  know  that,  too.  Like  very,  very  much  to  know  that. 
Where  am  I,  how  did  I  come  here,  and  why?  Three 
questions  I'd  like  very,  very  much  to  have  answered." 

He  sat  for  a  moment  in  deep  thought,  then  turned 
toward  the  bartender  with  the  pleased  look  of  a  man 
who  has  found  an  inspiration. 

"I  tell  you  what  you  do,  brother — you  answer  the 
first  two  questions  and  in  the  light  of  that  information 
I'll  see  if  I  can't  ponder  out  the  third." 

The  half-breed  leaned  heavily  across  the  single- 
plank  bar  and  watched  Toppy  closely. 

"This  town  is  Rail  Head,"  he  said  slowly,  as  if 
speaking  to  some  one  of  whose  mental  capacity  he  had 
great  doubts.  "You  come  here  by  last  night's  train. 
You  bring  the  train-crew  over  to  have  a  drink;  then 
you  fall  asleep.  You  been  sleeping  ever  since.  Now 
you  remember?" 

"Ah!" 

The  puzzled  look  went  out  of  Toppy's  eyes. 

"Now  I  remember.  Row  with  Harvey  Duncombe. 
Wanted  me  to  drink  two  to  his  one.  Stepped  out- 
side. Saw  little  train.  Saw  little  girl.  Stepped  off 


"Help!"  13 

big  train,  got  on  little  train,  and  here  I  am.  Fine 
little  business." 

"You  went  to  sleep  in  the  train  coming  up,  the 
conductor  told  me,"  volunteered  the  half-breed.  "You 
told  them  you  wanted  to  go  as  far  as  you  could,  so 
they  took  you  up  here  to  the  end  of  the  line.  You 
remember  now,  eh,  why  you  come  here?" 

"Only  too  well,  brother,"  replied  Toppy  wearily. 
"I — I  just  came  to  see  your  beautiful  little  city." 

The  bartender  laughed  bitterly. 

"You  come  to  a  fine  place.  Didn't  you  ever  hear 
'bout  Rail  Head?"  he  asked.  "I  guess  not,  or  you 
wouldn't  have  come.  This  town's  the  jumping-off 
place,  that's  what  she  is.  It's  the  most  God-forsaken, 
hopeless  excuse  for  a  town  in  the  whole  North  Coun- 
try. There's  only  two  kind  of  business  here — shipping 
men  out  to  Hell  Camp  and  skinning  them  when  they 
come  back.  That's  all.  What  you  think  of  that  for 
a  fine  town  you've  landed  in,  eh  ?" 

"Fine,"  said  Toppy.  "I  see  you  love  it  dearly,  in- 
deed." 

The  half-breed  nodded  grimly. 

"It's  all  right  for  me;  I  own  this  place.  Anybody 
else  is  sucker  to  come  here,  though.  You  ain't  a 
Bohunk  fool,  so  I  don't  think  you  come  to  hire  out 
for  Hell  Camp.  You  just  got  too  drunk,  eh?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Toppy,  yawning.  "What's  this 
Hell  Camp  thing?  Pleasant  little  name." 

"An5  pleasant  little  place,"  supplemented  the  man 
mockingly.  "Ain't  you  never  heard  'bout  Hell  Camp  ? 
'Bout  its  boss — Reivers — the  'Snow-Burner'?  Huh! 
Perhaps  you  want  hire  out  there  for  job?" 

"Perhaps,"  agreed  Toppy.    "What  is  it?" 

"Oh,  it  ain't  nothing  so  much.  Just  big  log-camp 
run  by  man  named  Reivers — that's  all.  Indians  call 
him  Snow-Burner.  Twenty-five,  thirty  miles  out  in 


14  The  Snow-Burner 

the  bush,  at  Cameron  Dam.  That's  all.  Very  big 
camp.  Everybody  who  comes  to  this  town  is  going 
out  there  to  work,  or  else  hiding  out." 

"I  see.    But  why  the  name?" 

"Hell  Camp?"  The  bartender's  grin  appeared  again; 
then,  as  if  a  second  thought  on  the  matter  had  oc- 
curred to  him,  he  assumed  a  noncommittal  expression 
and  yawned.  "Oh,  that's  just  nickname  the  boys 
give  it.  You  see,  the  boys  from  camp  come  to  town 
here  in  the  Spring.  Then  sometimes  they  raise  -  — . 
That's  why  some  people  call  it  Hell  Camp.  That's 
all.  Cameron  Dam  Camp  is  the  right  name." 

"I  see."  Toppy  was  wondering  why  the  man  should 
take  the  trouble  to  lie  to  him.  Of  course  he  was 
lying.  Even  Toppy,  with  his  bleared  eyes,  could  see 
that  the  man  had  started  to  berate  Hell  Camp  even  as 
he  had  berated  Rail  Head  and  had  suddenly  switched 
and  said  nothing.  It  hurt  Toppy's  head.  It  wasn't 
fair  to  puzzle  him  this  morning.  "I  see.  Just — just 
a  nickname." 

"That's  all,"  said  the  bartender.  Briskly  changing 
the  subject  he  said:  "Well,  how  'bout  it,  stranger? 
You  going  to  have  eye-opener  this  morning?" 

"I  suppose  so,"  said  Tcppy  absently.  He  again 
turned  his  attention  to  the  view  from  the  window. 
On  the  low  stairs  of  the  hotel  were  seated  half  a 
dozen  men  whose  flat,  ox-like  faces  and  foreign  cloth- 
ing marked  them  for  immigrants,  newly  arrived,  of 
the  Slavic  type.  Some  sat  on  wooden  trunks  oddly 
marked,  others  stood  with  bundles  beneath  their  arms. 
They  waited  stolidly,  blankly,  with  their  eyes  on  the 
hotel  door,  as  oxen  wait  for  the  coming  of  the  man 
who  is  going  to  feed  them.  Toppy  looked  on  with 
idle  interest. 

"I  didn't  think  you  could  see  anything  like  that  this 


"Help!"  15 

far  away  from  Ellis  Island,"  he  said.  "What  are 
those  fellows,  brother?" 

"Bohunks,"  said  the  bartender  with  a  contemptu- 
ous jerk  of  the  head.  "They  waiting1  to  hire  out  for 
the  Cameron  Dam  Camp.  The  agent  he  comes  to  the 
hotel.  Well,  what  you  going  to  have?" 

"Bring  me  a  whisky  sour,"  said  Toppy,  without 
taking  his  eyes  off  the  group  across  the  street.  The 
half-breed  grinned  and  placed  before  him  a  bottle  of 
whisky  and  a  glass.  Toppy  frowned. 

"A  whisky  sour,  I  said,"  he  protested. 

"When  you  get  this  far  in  the  woods,"  laughed  the 
man,  "they  all  come  out  of  one  bottle.  Drink  up." 

Once  more  Toppy  shuddered.  He  was  bored  by 
this  time. 

"Your  jokes  up  here  are  worse  than  your  booze,"  he 
said  wearily. 

He  poured  out  a  scant  drink  and  sat  with  the  glass 
in  his  hand  while  his  eyes  were  upon  the  group  across 
the  street.  He  was  about  to  drink  when  a  stir  among 
the  men  drew  his  attention.  The  door  of  the  hotel 
opened  briskly.  Toppy  suddenly  set  down  his  glass. 

The  girl  who  had  got  on  the  narrow-gauge  out  at 
the  junction  the  night  before  had  come  out  and  was 
standing  on  the  stairs,  looking  about  her  with  an  ex- 
pression which  to  Toppy  seemed  plainly  to  spell, 
"Help!" 


CHAPTER  II 

THE  GIRL 

TOPPY  sat  and  stared  across  the  street  at  her 
with  a  feeling  much  like  awe.  The  girl  was 
standing  forth  in  the  full  morning  sunlight,  and 
Toppy's  first  impulse  was  to  cross  the  street  to  her,  his 
second  to  hide  his  face.  She  was  small  and  young, 
the  girl,  and  beautiful.  She  was  a  blonde,  such  a 
blonde  as  is  found  only  in  the  North.  The  sun  lighted 
up  the  aureole  of  light  hair  surrounding  her  head, 
so  that  even  Toppy  behind  the  windows  of  the  North- 
ern Light  caught  a  vision  of  its  fineness.  Her  cheeks 
bore  the  red  of  perfect  health  showing  through  a  per- 
fect, fair  complexion,  and  even  the  thick  red  mackinaw 
which  she  wore  did  not  hide  the  trimness  of  the  figure 
beneath. 

"What  in  the  dickens  is  she  doing  here?"  gasped 
Toppy.  "She  doesn't  belong  in  a  place  like  this." 

But  if  this  were  true  the  girl  apparently  was  en- 
tirely unconscious  of  it.  Among  that  group  of  ox-like 
Slavs  she  stood  with  her  little  chin  in  the  air,  as 
much  at  home,  apparently,  as  if  those  men  were  all 
her  good  friends.  Only  she  looked  about  her  now 
and  then  as  if  anxiously  seeking  a  way  out  of  a 
dilemma. 

"What  can  she  be  doing  here  ?"  mused  Toppy.  "A 
little,  pretty  thing  like  her!  She  ought  to  be  back 
home  with  mother  and  father  and  brother  and  sister, 
going  to  dancing-school,  and  all  the  rest  of  it." 

16 


The  Girl  17 

Toppy  was  no  stranger  to  pretty  girls.  He  had  met 
pretty  girls  by  the  score  while  at  college.  He  had 
been  adored  by  dozens.  After  college  he  had  met 
still  more.  None  of  them  had  interested  him  to  any 
inconvenient  extent.  After  all,  a  man's  friends  are 
all  men. 

But  this  girl,  Toppy  admitted,  struck  him  differ- 
ently. He  had  never  seen  a  girl  that  struck  him  like 
this  before.  He  pushed  his  glass  to  one  side.  He 
was  bored  no  longer.  For  the  first  time  in  four  years 
the  full  shame  of  his  mode  of  living  was  driven  home 
to  him,  for  as  he  feasted  his  eyes  on  the  sun-kissed 
vision  across  the  street  his  decent  instincts  whispered 
that  a  man  who  squandered  and  swilled  his  life  away 
just  because  he  had  money  had  no  right  to  raise  his 
eyes  to  this  girl. 

"You're  a  waster,  that's  what  you  are,"  said  Toppy 
to  himself,  "and  she's  one  of  those  sweet " 

He  was  on  his  feet  before  the  sentence  was  com- 
pleted. In  her  perplexity  the  girl  had  turned  to  the 
men  about  her  and  apparently  had  asked  a  question. 
At  first  their  utter  unresponsiveness  indicated  that 
they  did  not  understand. 

Then  they  began  to  smile,  looking  at  one  another 
and  at  the  girl.  The  brutal  manner  in  which  they 
fixed  their  eyes  upon  her  sent  the  blood  into  Toppy's 
throat.  White  men  didn't  look  at  a  woman  that  way. 

Then  one  of  the  younger  men  spoke  to  the  girl. 
Toppy  saw  her  start  and  look  at  him  with  parted 
lips.  The  group  gathered  more  closely  around.  The 
young  man  spoke  again,  grimacing  and  smirking 
bestially,  and  Toppy  waited  for  no  more.  He  was  a 
waster  and  half  drunk;  but  after  all  he  was  a  white 
man,  of  the  same  breed  as  the  girl  on  the  stairs,  and 
he  knew  his  job. 

He  came  across  the  snow-covered  street  like  Toppy 


1 8  The  Snow-Burner 

Treplin  of  old  bent  upon  making  a  touchdown.  Into 
the  group  he  walked,  head  up,  shouldering  and  elbow- 
ing carelessly.  Toppy  caught  the  young  speaker  by 
both  shoulders  and  hurled  him  bodily  back  among  his 
fellows.  For  an  instant  they  faced  Toppy,  snarling, 
their  hands  cautiously  sliding  toward  hidden  knives. 
Then  they  grovelled,  cringing  instinctively  before  the 
better  breed. 

Toppy  turned  to  the  girl  and  removed  his  cap. 
She  had  not  cried  out  nor  moved,  and  now  she  looked 
Toppy  squarely  in  the  eye.  Toppy  promptly  hung  his 
head.  He  had  been  thinking  of  her  as  something 
of  a  child.  Now  he  saw  his  mistake.  She  was  young, 
it  is  true — little  over  twenty  perhaps — but  there  was. 
an  air  of  self-reliance  and  seriousness  about  her  as 
if  she  had  known  responsibilities  beyond  her  years. 
And  her  eyes  were  blue,  Toppy  saw — the  perfect  blue 
that  went  with  her  fair  complexion. 

"I  beg  pardon,"  stammered  Toppy.  "I  just  hap- 
pened to  see — it  looked  as  if  they  were  getting  fresh — 
so  I  thought  I'd  come  across  and — and  see  if  there  was 
anything — anything  I  could  do." 

"Thank  you,"  said  the  girl  a  little  breathlessly. 
"Are — are  you  the  agent?" 

Toppy  shook  his  head.  The  look  of  perplexity 
instantly  returned  to  the  girl's  face. 

"I'm  sorry;  I  wish  I  was,"  said  Toppy.  "If  you'll 
tell  me  who  the  agent  is,  and  so  on —  '  he  included 
most  of  the  town  of  Rail  Head  in  a  comprehensive 
glance — "I'll  probably  be  able  to  find  him  in  a  hurry." 

"Oh,  I  couldn't  think  of  troubling  you.  Thank 
you  ever  so  much,  though,"  she  said  hastily.  "They 
told  me  in  the  hotel  that  he  was  outside  here  some 
place.  I'll  find  him  myself,  thank  you." 

She  stepped  off  the  stairs  into  the  snow  of  the 
street,  every  inch  and  line  of  her,  from  her  solid  tan 


The  Girl  19 

boots  to  her  sensible  tassel  cap,  expressing  the  self- 
reliance  and  independence  of  the  girl  who  is  accus- 
tomed and  able  to  take  care  of  herself  under  trying 
circumstances. 

The  bright  sun  smote  her  eyes  and  she  blinked, 
squinting  deliciously.  She  paused  for  a  moment,  threw 
back  her  head  and  filled  her  lungs  to  the  full  with 
great  drafts  of  the  invigorating  November  air.  Her 
mackinaw  rose  and  fell  as  she  breathed  deeply,  and 
more  colour  came  rushing  into  the  roses  of  her  cheeks. 
Apparently  she  had  forgotten  the  existence  of  the 
Slavs,  who  still  stood  glowering  at  her  and  Toppy. 

"Isn't  it  glorious?"  she  said,  looking  up  at  Toppy 
with  her  eyes  puckered  prettily  from  the  sun.  "Doesn't 
it  just  make  you  glad  you're  alive?" 

"You  bet  it  does !"  said  Toppy  eagerly.  He  saw  his 
opportunity  to  continue  the  conversation  and  hastened 
to  take  advantage.  "I  never  knew  air  could  be  as 
exciting  as  this.  I  never  felt  anything  like  it.  It's 
my  first  experience  up  here  in  the  woods ;  I'm  an  utter 
stranger  around  here." 

Having  volunteered  this  information,  he  waited 
eagerly.  The  girl  merely  nodded. 

"Of  course.  Anybody  could  see  that,"  she  said 
simply. 

Toppy  felt  slightly  abashed. 

"Then  you — you're  not  a  stranger  around  here  ?"  he 
asked. 

She  shook  her  head,  the  tassels  of  her  cap  and  her 
aureole  of  light  hair  tossing  gloriously. 

"I'm  a  stranger  here  in  this  town,"  she  said,  "but 
I've  lived  up  here  in  the  woods,  as  you  call  it,  all  my 
life  except  the  two  years  I  was  away  at  school.  Not 
right  in  the  woods,  of  course,  but  in  small  towns 
around.  My  father  was  a  timber-estimator  before 


2O  The  Snow-Burner 

he  was  hurt,  and  naturally  we  had  to  live  close  to  the 
woods." 

"Naturally,"  agreed  Toppy,  though  he  knew  noth- 
ing about  it.  He  tried  to  imagine  any  of  the  girls 
he  knew  back  East  accepting  a  stranger  as  a  man  and 
a  brother  who  could  be  trusted  at  first  hand,  and  he 
failed. 

"I  say,"  he  said  as  she  stepped  away.  "Just  a 
moment,  please.  About  this  agent-thing.  Won't  you 
please  let  me  go  and  look  for  him?"  He  waved 
his  hands  at  the  six  saloons.  "You  see,  there  aren't 
many  places  here  that  a  lady  can  go  looking  for  a 
man  in." 

She  hesitated,  frowning  at  the  lowly  groggeries  that 
constituted  the  major  part  of  Rail  Head's  buildings. 

"That's  so,"  she  said  with  a  smile. 

"Of  course  it  is,"  said  Toppy  eagerly.  "And  the 
chances  are  that  your  man  is  in  one  of  them,  no  matter 
who  he  is,  because  that's  about  the  only  place  he 
can  be  here.  You  tell  me  who  he  is,  or  what  he  is, 
and  I'll  go  hunt  him  up." 

"That's  very  kind  of  you."  She  hesitated  for  a 
moment,  then  accepted  his  offer  without  further 
parley.  "It's  the  employment  agent  of  the  Cameron 
Dam  Company  that  I'm  looking  for.  I  am  to  meet  him 
here,  according  to  a  letter  they  sent  me,  and  he  is  to 
furnish  a  team  and  driver  to  take  me  out  to  the  Dam." 

Then  she  added  calmly,  "I'm  going  to  keep  books 
out  there  this  Winter." 


CHAPTER    III 

TOPPY   GETS   A   JOB 

TOPPY  gasped.  In  the  first  place,  he  had  not 
been  thinking  of  her  as  a  "working  girl."  None 
of  the  girls  that  he  knew  belonged  to  that  class.  The 
notion  that  she,  with  the  childish  dimple  in  her  chin 
and  the  roses  in  her  cheeks,  was  a  girl  who  made  her 
own  living  was  hard  to  assimilate;  the  idea  that  she 
was  going  out  to  a  camp  in  the  woods — out  to  Hell 
Camp — to  work  was  absolutely  impossible! 

"Keep  books?"  said  Toppy,  bewildered.  "Do  they 
keep  books  in  a — in  a  logging-camp?" 

It  was  her  turn  to  look  surprised. 

"Do  you  know  anything  about  Cameron  Dam?" 
she  asked. 

"Nothing,"  admitted  Toppy.  "It's  a  logging-camp, 
though,  isn't  it?" 

"Rather  more  than  that,  as  I  understand  it,"  she 
replied.  "They  are  building  a  town  out  there,  accord- 
ing to  my  letter.  There  are  over  two  hundred  people 
there  now.  At  present  they're  doing  nothing  but  log- 
ging and  building  the  dam ;  but  they  say  they've  found 
ore  out  there,  and  in  the  Spring  the  railroad  is  coming 
and  the  town  will  open  up." 

"And — and  you're  going  to  keep  books  there  this 
Winter?" 

She  nodded.  "They  pay  well.  They're  paying  me 
seventy-five  dollars  a  month  and  my  board." 

"And  you  don't  know  anything  about  the  place?" 

31 


22  The  Snow-Burner 

"Except  what  they've  written  in  the  letter  engaging 
me." 

"And  still  you're  going  out  there — to  work?" 

"Of  course,"  she  said  cheerfully.  "Seventy-five- 
dollar  jobs  aren't  to  be  picked  up  every  day  around 
here." 

"I  see,"  said  Toppy.  He  remembered  Harvey  Dun- 
combe's  champagne  bill  of  the  night  before  and  grew 
thoughtful.  He  himself  had  shuddered  a  short  while 
before,  at  waking  in  a  bar  where  there  was  no  mirror, 
and  he  had  planned  to  wire  Harvey  for  five  hundred 
to  take  him  back  to  civilisation.  And  here  was  this 
delicate  little  girl — as  delicate  to  look  upon  as  any  of 
the  petted  and  pampered  girls  he  knew  back  East — 
cheerfully,  even  eagerly,  setting  her  face  toward  the 
wilderness  because  therein  lay  a  job  paying  the  colossal 
sum  of  seventy-five  dollars  a  month!  And  she  was 
going  alone! 

A  reckless  impulse  swayed  Toppy.  He  decided  not 
to  wire  Harvey. 

"I  see,"  he  said  thoughtfully.  "I'll  go  find  this 
agent.  You'd  better  wait  inside  the  hotel." 

He  crossed  the  street  and  systematically  began  to 
search  through  the  six  saloons.  In  the  third  place  he 
found  his  man  shaking  dice  with  an  Indian.  The  agent 
was  a  lean,  long-nosed  individual  who  wore  thick 
glasses  and  talked  through  his  nose. 

"Yes,  I'm  the  Cameron  Dam  agent,"  he  drawled, 
curiously  eying  Toppy  from  head  to  toe.  "Simmons  is 
my  name.  What  can  I  do  for  you  ?" 

"I  want  a  job,"  said  Toppy.  "A  job  out  at  Hell 
Camp." 

The  agent  laughed  shortly  at  the  name. 

"You're  wise,  are  you?"  he  said.  "And  still  you 
want  a  job  out  there?  Well,  I'm  sorry.  That  load  of 
Bohunks  across  the  street  fills  me  up.  I  can't  use 


Toppy  Gets  a  Job  23 

any  more  rough  labour  just  at  present.  I'm  looking 
for  a  blacksmith's  helper,  but  I  guess  that  ain't  you." 

"That's  me,"  said  Toppy  resolutely.  "That's  the 
job  I  want — blacksmith's  helper.  That's  my  job." 

The  agent  looked  him  over  with  the  critical  eye 
of  a  man  skilfully  appraising  bone  and  muscle. 

"You're  big  enough,  that's  sure,"  he  drawled. 
"You've  got  the  shoulders  and  arms,  too,  but — let's 
see  your  hands." 

Toppy  held  up  his  hands,  huge  in  size,  but  entirely 
innocent  of  callouses  or  other  signs  of  wear.  The 
agent  grinned. 

"Soft  as  a  woman's,"  he  said  scornfully.  "When 
did  you  ever  do  any  blacksmithing  ?  Long  time  ago, 
wasn't  it?  Before  you  were  born,  I  guess." 

Toppy's  right  hand  shot  out  and  fell  upon  the 
agent's  thin  arm.  Slowly  and  steadily  he  squeezed 
until  the  man  writhed  and  grimaced  with  pain. 

"Wow !  Leggo !"  The  agent  peered  over  his  thick 
glasses  with  something  like  admiration  in  his  eyes. 
"Say,  you're  there  with  the  grip,  all  right,  big  fellow. 
Where'd  you  get  it?" 

"Swinging  a  sledge,"  lied  Toppy  solemnly.  "And 
I've  come  here  to  get  that  job." 

Simmons  shook  his  head. 

"I  can't  do  it,"  he  protested.  "If  I  should  send  you 
out  and  you  shouldn't  make  good,  Reivers  would  be 
sore." 

"Who's  this  man  Reivers?" 

The  agent's  eyes  over  his  glasses  expressed  surprise. 

"I  thought  you  were  wise  to  Hell  Camp?"  he  said. 

"Oh,  I'm  wise  enough,"  said  Toppy  impatiently.  "I 
know  what  it  is.  But  who's  this  Reivers?" 

"He's  the  boss,"  said  Simmons  shortly.  "D'you 
mean  to  say  you  never  heard  about  Hell-Camp  Reivers, 
the  Snow-Btfrner?" 


24  LThe  Snow-Burner 

"No,  I  haven't,"  replied  Toppy  impatiently.  "But 
that  doesn't  make  any  difference.  You  send  me  out 
there;  I'll  make  good,  don't  worry."  He  paused  and 
sized  his  man  up.  "Come  over  here,  Simmons,"  he 
said  with  a  significant  wink,  leading  the  way  toward 
the  door.  "I  want  that  job;  I  want  it  badly."  Toppy 
dived  into  his  pockets.  Two  bills  came  to  light — 
two  twenties.  He  slipped  them  casually  into  Simmons' 
hand.  "That's  how  bad  I  want  it.  Now  how  about 
it?" 

The  fashion  in  which  Simmons'  thin  fingers  closed 
upon  the  money  told  Toppy  that  he  was  not  mistaken 
in  the  agent's  character. 

"You'll  be  taking  your  own  chances,"  warned  Sim- 
mons, carefully  pocketing  the  money.  "If  you  don't 
make  good — well,  you'll  have  to  explain  to  Reivers, 
that's  all.  You  must  have  an  awful  good  reason  for 
wanting  to  go  out." 

"I  have." 

"Hiding  from  something,  mebbe?"  suggested  Sim- 
mons. 

"Maybe,"  said  Toppy.  "And,  say — there's  a  young 
lady  over  at  the  hotel  who's  looking  for  you.  Said 
you  were  to  furnish  her  with  a  sleigh  to  get  out  to 
Cameron  Dam." 

An  evil  smile  broke  over  the  agent's  thin  face  as  he 
moved  toward  the  door. 

"The  new  bookkeeper,  I  suppose,"  he  said,  winking 
at  Toppy.  "Aha!  Now  I  understand  why  you 

Toppy  caught  him  two  steps  from  the  door.  His 
fingers  sank  into  the  man's  withered  biceps. 

"No,  you  don't  understand,"  he  hissed  grimly. 
"Get  that?  You  don't  understand  anything  about  it." 

"All  right,"  snapped  the  cowed  man.  "Leggo  my 
arm.  I  was  just  joshing.  You  can  take  a  joke,  can't 
you?  Well,  then,  come  along.  As  long  as  you're 


Toppy  Gets  a  Job  25 

going  out  you  might  as  well  go  at  once.  I've  got  to 
get  a  double  team,  anyhow,  for  the  lady,  and  you've 
got  to  start  now  to  make  it  before  dark.  Ready  to 
start  now  ?" 

"All  ready,"  said  Toppy. 

At  the  door  the  agent  paused. 

"Say,  you  haven't  said  anything  about  wages  yet," 
he  said  quizzically. 

"That's  so,"  said  Toppy,  as  if  he  had  forgotten. 
"How  much  am  I  going  to  get?" 

"Sixty  a  month." 

The  agent  couldn't  understand  why  the  new  man 
should  laugh.  It  struck  Toppy  as  funny  that  a  little 
girl  with  a  baby  dimple  in  her  chin  should  be  earning 
more  money  than  he.  Also,  he  wondered  what  Harvey 
Buncombe  and  the  rest  of  the  bunch  would  have 
thought  had  they  known. 

Toppy  followed  the  agent  to  the  stable  behind  the 
hotel,  where  Simmons  routed  out  an  old  hunchbacked 
driver  who  soon  brought  forth  a  team  of  rangy  bays 
drawing  a  light  double-seated  sleigh. 

"Company  outfit,"  explained  Simmons.  "Have  to 
have  a  team;  one  horse  can't  make  it.  You  can  ride 
in  the  front  seat  with  the  driver.  The  lady  will  ride 
behind." 

As  Toppy  clambered  in  Simmons  hurriedly  whis- 
pered something  in  the  ear  of  the  driver,  who  was 
fastening  a  trace.  The  hunchback  nodded. 

"I  got  this  job  because  I  can  keep  my  mouth  shut," 
he  muttered.  "Don't  you  worry  about  anybody  pump- 
ing me." 

He  stepped  in  beside  Toppy ;  and  the  bays,  prancing 
in  the  snow,  went  around  to  the  front  of  the  hotel 
on  the  run.  There  was  a  wait  of  a  few  minutes;  then 
Simmons  came  out,  followed  by  the  girl  carrying  her 


26  The  Snow-Burner 

suitcase.  Toppy  sprang  out  and  took  it  from  her 
hand. 

"You  people  are  going  to  be  together  on  a  long 
drive,  so  I'd  better  introduce  you,"  said  Simmons. 
"Miss  Pearson,  Mr.  " 

"Treplin,"  said  Toppy  honestly. 

"Treplin,"  concluded  Simmons.  "New  bookkeeper., 
new  blacksmith's  helper.  Get  in  the  back  seat,  Miss 
Pearson.  Cover  yourself  well  up  with  those  robes. 
Bundle  in — that's  right.  Put  the  suitcase  under  your 
feet.  That's  right.  All  right,  Jerry,"  he  drawled  to 
the  driver.  "You'd  better  keep  going  pretty  steady 
to  make  it  before  dark." 

"Don't  nobody  need  to  tell  me  my  business,"  said 
the  surly  hunchback,  tightening  the  lines ;  and  without 
any  more  ado  they  were  off,  the  snow  flying  from 
the  heels  of  the  mettlesome  bays. 

For  the  first  few  miles  the  horses,  fresh  from  the 
stable  and  exhilarated  to  the  dancing-point  by  the  sun, 
air  and  snow,  provided  excitement  which  prevented 
any  attempt  at  conversation.  Then,  when  their  danc- 
ing and  shying  had  ceased  and  they  had  settled  down 
to  a  steady,  long-legged  jog  that  placed  mile  after 
mile  of  the  white  road  behind  them  with  the  regularity 
of  a  machine,  Toppy  turned  his  eyes  toward  the  girl 
in  the  back  seat. 

He  quickly  turned  them  to  the  front  again.  Miss 
Pearson,  snuggled  down  to  her  chin  in  the  thick  sleigh- 
robes,  her  eyes  squinting  deliciously  beneath  the  sharp 
sun,  was  studying  him  with  a  frankness  that  was  dis- 
concerting, and  Toppy,  probably  for  the  first  time  in 
his  life,  felt  himself  gripped  by  a  great  shyness  and 
confusion.  There  was  wonderment  in  the  girl's  eyes, 
and  suspicion. 

"She's  wise,"  thought  Toppy  sadly.  "She  knows 
I've  been  hitting  it  up,  and  she  knows  I  made  up  my 


Toppy  Gets  a  Job  27 

mind  to  come  out  here  after  I  talked  with  her.  A 
fine  opinion  she  must  have  of  me!  Well,  I  deserve 
it.  But  just  the  same  I've  got  to  see  the  thing  through 
now.  I  can't  stand  for  her  going  out  all  alone  to  a 
place  with  a  reputation  like  Hell  Camp.  I'm  a  dead 
one  with  her,  all  right;  but  I'll  stick  around  and  see 
that  she  gets  a  square  deal." 

Consequently  the  drive,  which  Toppy  had  hoped 
would  lead  to  more  conversation  and  a  closer  ac- 
quaintance with  the  girl,  resolved  itself  into  a  silent, 
monotonous  affair  which  made  him  distinctly  uncom- 
fortable. He  looked  back  at  her  again.  This  time  also 
he  caught  her  eyes  full  upon  him,  but  this  time  after 
an  instant's  scrutiny  she  looked  away  with  a  trace  of 
hardness  about  her  lips. 

"I'm  in  bad  at  the  start  with  her,  sure,"  groaned 
Toppy  inwardly.  "She  doesn't  want  a  thing  to  do 
with  me,  and  quite  right  at  that." 

His  tentative  efforts  at  opening  a  conversation  with 
the  driver  met  instant  and  convincing  failure. 

"I  hear  they've  got  quite  a  place  out  here,"  began 
Toppy  casually. 

"None  of  my  business  if  they  have,"  grunted  the 
driver. 

Toppy  laughed. 

"You're  a  sociable  brute!  Why  don't  you  bark 
and  be  done  with  it?" 

The  driver  viciously  pulled  the  team  to  a  dead  stop 
and  turned  upon  Toppy  with  a  look  that  could  come 
only  from  a  spirit  of  complete  malevolence. 

"Don't  try  to  talk  to  me,  young  feller,"  he  snapped, 
showing  old  yellow  teeth.  "My  job  is  to  haul  you  out 
there,  and  that's  all.  I  don't  talk.  Don't  waste  your 
time  trying  to  make  me.  Giddap!" 

He  cut  viciously  at  the  horses  with  his  whip,  pulled 
his  head  into  the  collar  of  his  fur  coat  with  the  motion 


28  The  Snow-Burner 

of  a  turtle  retiring  into  its  shell,  and  for  the  rest  of 
the  drive  spoke  only  to  the  horses. 

Toppy,  snubbed  by  the  driver  and  feeling  himself 
shunned,  perhaps  even  despised,  by  Miss  Pearson,  now 
had  plenty  of  time  to  think  over  the  situation  calmly. 
The  crisp  November  air  whipping  his  face  as  the 
sleigh  sped  steadily  along  drove  from  his  brain  the  re- 
maining fumes  of  Harvey  Buncombe's  champagne. 
He  saw  the  whole  affair  clearly  now,  and  he  promptly 
called  himself  a  great  fool. 

What  business  was  it  of  his  if  a  girl  wanted  to  go 
out  to  work  in  a  place  like  Hell  Camp?  Probably 
it  was  all  right.  Probably  there  was  no  necessity, 
no  excuse  for  his  having  made  a  fool  of  himself  by 
going  with  her.  Why  had  he  done  it,  anyhow? 
Getting  interested  in  anything  because  of  a  girl  was 
strange  conduct  for  him.  He  couldn't  call  to  mind 
a  single  tangible  reason  for  his  actions.  He  had 
acted  on  the  impulse,  as  he  had  done  scores  of  times 
before;  and,  as  he  had  also  done  scores  of  times  be- 
fore, he  felt  that  he  had  made  a  fool  of  himself. 

He  tried  to  catch  the  girl's  eyes  once  more,  to  read 
in  them  some  sign  of  relenting,  some  excuse  for  open- 
ing a  conversation.  But  as  he  turned  his  head  Miss 
Pearson  also  turned  and  looked  away  with  uncom- 
promising severity.  Toppy  studied  the  purity  of  her 
profile,  the  innocence  of  the  baby  dimple  in  her  chin, 
out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye.  And  as  he  turned  and 
glanced  at  the  evil  face  of  the  hunchback  driver  he 
settled  himself  with  a  sigh,  and  thought — 

"Nevertheless,  and  notwithstanding  the  fact  that 
I've  been  a  fool,  I  am  glad  that  I'm  here." 

At  noon  the  road  plunged  out  of  the  scant  jack- 
pine  forest  into  the  gloom  of  a  hemlock  swamp.  Toppy 
shuddered  as  he  contemplated  what  the  fate  of  a  man 
.might  be  who  should  be  unfortunate  enough  to  get 


Toppy  Gets  a  Job  29 

lost  in  that  swamp.  A  mile  in  the  swamp,  on  a  slight 
knoll,  they  came  to  a  tiny  cabin  guarding  a  gate  across 
the  road.  An  old,  bearded  woodsman  came  out  of  the 
cabin  and  opened  the  gate,  and  the  hunchback  pulled 
up  and  proceeded  to  feed  his  team. 

"Dinner's  waiting  inside,"  called  the  gate-tender. 
"Come  in  and  eat,  miss — and  you,  too;  I  suppose 
you're  hungry  ?"  he  added  to  Toppy. 

"And  hurry  up,  too,"  growled  the  hunchback.  "I 
give  you  twenty  minutes." 

"Thank  you  very  much,"  said  the  girl,  diving  into 
her  suitcase.  "I've  brought  my  own  lunch." 

She  brought  out  some  sandwiches  and  proceeded 
to  nibble  at  them  without  moving  from  the  sleigh. 
Toppy  tumbled  into  the  cabin  in  company  with  the 
hunchback  driver.  A  rough  meal  was  on  the  table 
and  they  fell  to  without  a  word.  Toppy  noticed  that 
the  old  woodsman  sat  on  a  bench  near  the  door  where 
he  could  keep  an  eye  on  the  road.  Above  the  bench 
hung  a  pair  of  field-glasses,  a  repeating  shotgun  and  a 
high-power  Winchester  rifle. 

"Any  hunting  around  here?"  asked  Toppy  cheerily. 

"Sometimes,"  said  the  old  watcher  with  a  smile  that 
made  Toppy  wonder. 

He  did  not  pursue  the  subject,  for  there  was  some- 
thing about  the  lonely  cabin,  the  bearded  old  man, 
and  the  rifle  on  the  wall  that  suggested  something  much 
more  grim  than  sport. 

The  driver  soon  bolted  his  meal  and  went  back  to 
the  sleigh.  Toppy  followed,  and  twenty  minutes 
after  pulling  up  they  were  on  the  road  again.  With 
each  mile  that  they  passed  now  the  swamp  grew  wilder 
and  the  gloom  of  the  wilderness  more  oppressive.  To 
right  and  left  among  the  trees  Toppy  made  out 
stretches  of  open  water,  great  springs  and  little  creeks 


3O  The  Snow-Burner 

which  never  froze  and  which  made  the  swamp  even 
in  Winter  a  treacherous  morass. 

Toward  the  end  of  the  short  afternoon  the  swamp 
suddenly  gave  way  to  a  rough,  untimbered  ridge.  Red 
rocks,  which  Toppy  later  learned  contained  iron  ore, 
poked  their  way  like  jagged  teeth  through  the  snow. 
The  sleigh  mounted  the  ridge,  the  runners  grating  on 
bare  rock  and  dirt,  dipped  down  into  a  ravine  between 
two  ridges,  swung  off  almost  at  right  angles  in  a  cleft 
in  the  hills — and  before  Toppy  realised  that  the  end 
of  the  drive  had  come,  they  were  in  full  view  of  a 
large  group  of  log  buildings  on  the  edge  of  a  dense 
pine  forest  and  were  listening  to  the  roar  of  the  waters 
of  Cameron  Dam. 


CHAPTER   IV 
"HELL-CAMP"  REIVERS 

IN  the  face  of  things  there  was  nothing  about  the 
place  to  suggest  that  it  deserved  the  title  of  Hell 
Camp.  The  Cameron  Dam  Camp,  as  Toppy  saw  it 
now,  consisted  of  seven  neat  log  buildings.  Of  these 
the  first  six  were  located  on  the  road  which  led  into 
the  camp,  three  on  each  side.  These  buildings  were 
twice  as  large  as  the  ordinary  log  buildings  which 
Toppy  had  seen  in  the  woods;  but  they  were  thor- 
oughly dwarfed  and  overshadowed  by  the  seventh, 
which  lay  beyond  them,  and  into  the  enormous  door- 
way of  which  the  road  seemed  to  disappear.  This 
building  was  larger  than  the  other  six  combined — was 
built  of  huge  logs,  apparently  fifteen  feet  high;  and 
its  wall,  which  stretched  across  the  road,  seemed  to 
have  no  windows  or  openings  of  any  kind  save  a  great 
double  door. 

Toppy  had  no  time  for  a  careful  scrutiny  of  the 
place,  as  the  hunchback  swiftly  pulled  up  before  the 
first  building  of  the  camp,  a  well-built  double-log  affair 
with  large  front  windows  and  a  small  sign,  "Office  and 
Store."  Directly  across  the  road  from  this  building 
was  one  bearing  the  sign,  "Blacksmith  Shop,"  and 
Toppy  gazed  with  keen  curiosity  at  a  short  man  with 
white  hair  and  broad  shoulders  who,  with  a  black- 
smith's hammer  in  his  hand,  came  to  the  door  of 
the  shop  as  they  drove  up.  Probably  this  was  the  man 
for  whom  he  was  to  work. 


32  The  Snow-Burner 

"Hey,  Jerry,"  greeted  the  blacksmith  with  a  burr 
in  his  speech  that  labelled  him  unmistakably  as  a  Scot. 

"Hey,  Scotty,"  replied  the  hunchback. 

"Did  ye  bring  me  a  helper?" 

"Yes,"  grunted  Jerry. 

"Good!"  said  the  blacksmith,  and  returned  to  his 
anvil.  « 

The  hunchback  turned  to  the  girl  as  soon  as  the 
team  had  come  to  a  standstill. 

"This  is  where  you  go,"  he  said,  indicating  the 
office  with  a  nod.  "You,"  he  grunted  to  Toppy,  "sit 
right  where  you  are  till  we  go  see  the  boss." 

An  Indian  squaw,  nearly  as  broad  as  she  was  tall, 
came  waddling  out  of  the  store  as  Miss  Pearson 
stepped  stiffly  from  the  sleigh.  Toppy  wished  for 
courage  to  get  out  and  carry  the  girl's  suitcase,  but 
he  feared  that  his  action  would  be  misinterpreted ; 
so  he  sat  still,  eagerly  watching  out  of  the  corner 
of  his  eyes. 

"I  carry  um,"  said  the  squaw  as  the  girl  dragged 
forth  her  baggage.  "You  go  in." 

Then  the  sleigh  drove  abruptly  ahead  toward  the 
great  building  at  the  end  of  the  road,  and  Toppy's 
final  view  of  the  scene  was  Miss  Pearson  stumping 
stiffly  into  the  office-building  with  the  squaw,  the  suit- 
case held  in  her  arms,  waddling  behind.  Miss  Pearson 
did  not  look  in  his  direction. 

And  now  Toppy  had  his  first  shock.  For  he  saw 
that  the  building  toward  which  they  were  hurrying  was 
not  a  building  at  all,  but  merely  a  stockade-wall,  which 
seemed  to  surround  all  of  the  camp  except  the  six 
buildings  which  were  outside.  What  he  had  thought  a 
huge  doorway  was  in  reality  a  great  gate. 

This  gate  swung  open  at  their  approach,  and  Toppy's 
second  shock  came  when  he  saw  that  the  two  hard- 
faced  men  who  opened  it  carried  in  the  crooks  of  their 


"  Hell-Camp"  Reivers  33 

arms  wicked-looking,  short-barrelled  repeating  shot- 
guns. One  of  the  men  caught  the  horses  by  the  head 
as  soon  as  they  were  through  the  gate,  and  brought 
them  to  a  dead  stop,  while  the  other  closed  the  gate 
behind  them. 

"Can't  you  see  the  boss  is  busy?"  snapped  the  man 
who  had  stopped  the  team.  "You  wait  right  here  till 
he's  through." 

Toppy  now  saw  that  they  had  driven  into  a  quad- 
rangle, three  sides  of  which  were  composed  of  long, 
low,  log  buildings  with  doors  and  windows  cut  at 
frequent  intervals,  the  fourth  side  being  formed  by 
the  stockade-wall  through  which  they  had  just  passed. 
The  open  space  which  thus  lay  between  four  walls  of 
solid  logs  was  perhaps  fifty  yards  long  by  twenty-five 
yards  wide.  In  his  first  swift  sight  of  the  place  Toppy 
saw  that,  with  the  stockade-gate  closed  and  two  men 
with  riot-guns  on  guard,  the  place  was  nothing  more 
nor  less  than  an  effective  prison.  Then  his  attention 
was  riveted  spellbound  by  what  was  taking  place  in 
the  yard. 

On  the  sunny  side  of  the  yard  a  group  of  probably 
a  dozen  men  were  huddled  against  the  log  wall.  Two 
things  struck  Toppy  as  he  looked  at  them — their  simi- 
larity to  the  group  of  Slavs  he  had  seen  back  in  Rail 
Head,  and  the  complete  terror  in  their  faces  as  they 
cringed  tightly  against  the  log  wall.  Perhaps  ten  feet 
in  front  of  them,  and  facing  them,  stood  a  man  alone. 
And  Toppy,  as  he  beheld  the  terror  with  which  the 
dozen  shrank  back  from  the  one,  and  as  he  looked  at 
the  man,  knew  that  he  was  looking  upon  Hell-Camp 
Reivers,  the  man  who  was  called  The  Snow-Burner. 

Toppy  Treplin  was  not  an  impressionable  young 
man.  He  had  lived  much  and  swiftly  and  among 
many  kinds  of  men,  and  it  took  something  remark- 
able in  the  man-line  to  surprise  him.  But  the  sight  of 


34  The  Snow-Burner 

Reivers  brought  from  him  a  start,  and  he  sat  staring, 
completely  fascinated  by  the  Manager's  presence. 

It  was  not  the  size  of  Reivers  that  held  him,  for 
Toppy  at  first  glance  judged  correctly  that  Reivers 
and  himself  might  have  come  from  the  same  mold  so 
far  as  height  and  weight  were  concerned.  Neither  was 
it  the  terrible  physical  power  which  fairly  reeked 
from  the  man;  for  though  Reivers'  rough  clothing 
seemed  merely  light  draperies  on  the  huge  muscles 
that  lay  beneath,  Toppy  had  played  with  strong  men, 
professionals  and  amateurs,  enough  to  be  blase  in  the 
face  of  a  physical  Colossus.  It  was  the  calm,  ghastly 
brutality  of  the  man,  the  complete  brutality  of  an 
animal,  dominated  by  a  human  intelligence,  that  held 
Toppy  spellbound. 

Reivers,  as  he  stood  there  alone,  glowering  at  the 
poor  wretches  who  cowered  from  him  like  pygmies, 
was  like  a  tiger  preparing  to  spring  and  carefully  cal- 
culating where  his  claws  and  fangs  might  sink  in  with 
most  damage  to  his  victims.  He  stood  with  his  feet 
close  together,  his  thumbs  hooked  carelessly  in  his 
trousers  pockets,  his  head  thrust  far  forward.  Toppy 
had  a  glimpse  of  a  long,  thin  nose,  thin  lips  parted 
in  a  sneer,  heavily  browed  eyes,  and,  beneath  the 
back-thrust  cap,  a  mass  of  curly  light  hair — hair  as 
light  as  the  girl's !  Then  Reivers  spoke. 

"Rosky!"  he  said  in  a  voice  that  was  half  snarl, 
half  bellow. 

There  was  a  troubled  movement  among  the  dozen 
men  huddled  against  the  wall,  but  there  came  no 
answer. 

"Rosky !  Step  out !"  commanded  Reivers  in  a  tone 
whose  studied  ferocity  made  Toppy  shudder. 

In  response,  a  tall,  broad-shouldered  Slav,  the  old- 
est and  largest  man  in  the  group,  stepped  sullenly  out 
and  stood  a  yard  in  front  of  his  fellows.  He  had 


"Hell-Camp"  Reivers  35 

taken  off  his  cap  and  held  it  tightly  in  his  clenched 
right  hand,  and  the  expression  on  his  flat  face  as 
he  stood  with  hanging  head  and  scowled  at  Reivers 
was  one  half  of  fear  and  half  of  defiance. 

"You  no  can  hit  me,"  he  muttered  doggedly.  "I 
citizen;  I  got  first  papers." 

Reivers's  manner  underwent  a  change. 

"Hit  you?"  he  repeated  softly.  "Who  wants  to 
hit  you  ?  I  just  want  to  talk  with  you.  I  hear  you're 
thinking  of  quitting.  I  hear  you've  planned  to  take 
these  fellows  with  you  when  you  go.  How  about  it, 
Rosky?" 

"I  got  papers,"  said  the  man  sullenly.  "I  citizen ;  I 
quit  job  when  I  want." 

"Yes?"  said  Reivers  gently.  It  was  like  a  tiger 
playing  with  a  hedgehog,  and  Toppy  sickened.  "But 
you  signed  to  stay  here  six  months,  didn't  you  ?" 

The  gentleness  of  the  Manager  had  deceived  the 
thick-witted  Slav  and  he  grew  bold. 

"I  drunk  when  I  sign,"  he  said  loudly.  "All  these 
fallow  drunk  when  they  sign.  I  quit.  They  quit.  You 
no  can  keep  us  here  if  we  no  want  stay." 

"I  can't?"  Still  Reivers  saw  fit  to  play  with  his 
victim. 

"No,"  said  the  man.  "And  you  no  dare  hit  us  again, 
no." 

"No  ?"  purred  Reivers  softly.  "No,  certainly  not ;  I 
wouldn't  hit  you.  You're  quite  right,  Rosky.  I  won't 
hit  you;  no." 

He  was  standing  at  least  seven  feet  from  his  man, 
his  feet  close  together,  his  thumbs  still  hooked  in 
his  trousers  pockets.  Suddenly,  and  so  swiftly  that 
Rosky  did  not  have  time  to  move,  Reivers  took  a  step 
forward  and  shot  out  his  right  foot.  His  boot  seemed 
barely  to  touch  the  shin-bone  of  Rosky 's  right  leg,  but 
Toppy  heard  the  bone  snap  as  the  Slav,  with  a  shriek 


36  The  Snow-Burner 

of  pain  and  terror,  fell  face  downward,  prone  in  the 
trampled  snow  at  Reivers'  feet. 

And  Reivers  did  not  look  at  him.  He  was  standing 
as  before,  as  if  nothing  had  happened,  as  if  he  had  not 
moved.  His  eyes  were  upon  the  other  men,  who, 
appalled  at  their  leader's  fate,  huddled  more  closely 
against  the  log  wall. 

"Well,  how  about  it  ?"  demanded  Reivers  icily  after 
a  long  silence.  "Any  more  of  you  fellows  think  you 
want  to  quit?" 

Half  of  the  dozen  cried  out  in  terror: 

"No,  no!    We  no  quit.     Please,  boss;  we  no  quit." 

A  smile  of  complete  contempt  curled  Reivers'  thin 
upper  lip. 

"You  poor  scum,  of  course  you  ain't  going  to  quit," 
he  sneered.  "You'll  stay  here  and  slave  away  until  I'm 
through  with  you.  And  don't  you  even  dare  think 
of  quitting.  Rosky  thought  he'd  kept  his  plans  mighty 
secret — thought  I  wouldn't  know  what  he  was  plan- 
ning. You  see  what  happened  to  him. 

"I  know  everything  that's  going  on  in  this  camp. 
If  you  don't  believe  it,  try  it  out  and  see.  Now  pick 
this  thing  up — "  he  stirred  the  groaning  Rosky  con- 
temptuously with  his  foot — "and  carry  him  into  his 
bunk.  I'll  be  around  and  set  his  leg  when  I  get  ready. 
Then  get  back  to  the  rock-pile  and  make  up  for  the 
time  it's  taken  to  teach  you  this  lesson." 

The  brutality  of  the  thing  had  frozen  Toppy  mo- 
tionless where  he  sat  in  the  sleigh.  At  the  same  time 
he  was  conscious  of  a  thrill  of  admiration  for  the 
dominant  creature  who  had  so  contemptuously  crippled 
a  fellow  man.  A  brute  Reivers  certainly  was,  and  well 
he  deserved  the  name  of  Hell  Camp  Reivers;  but  a 
born  captain  he  was,  too,  though  his  dominance  was 
of  a  primordial  sort. 

Turning  instantly  from  his  victim  as  from  a  piece  of 


"Hell-Camp"  Reivers  37 

business  that  is  finished,  Reivers  looked  around  and 
came  toward  the  sleigh.  Some  primitive  instinct 
prompted  Toppy  to  step  out  and  stretch  himself  lei- 
surely, his  long  arms  above  his  head,  his  big  chest 
inflated  to  the  limit.  At  the  sight  of  him  a  change 
came  over  Reivers'  face.  The  brutality  and  contempt 
went  out  of  it  like  a  flash.  His  eyes  lighted  up  with 
pleasure  at  the  sight  of  Toppy's  magnificent  propor- 
tions, and  he  smiled  a  quick  smile  of  comradeship,  such 
as  one  smiles  when  he  meets  a  fellow  and  equal,  and 
held  out  his  hand  to  Toppy. 

"University  man,  I'll  wager,"  he  said,  in  the  easy 
voice  of  a  man  of  culture.  "Glad  to  see  you;  more 
than  glad !  These  beasts  are  palling  on  me.  They're 
so  cursed  physical — no  mind,  no  spirit  in  them.  Noth- 
ing but  so  many  pounds  of  meat  and  bone.  Old  Camp- 
bell, my  blacksmith,  is  the  only  other  intelligent  being 
in  camp,  and  he's  Scotch  and  believes  in  predestina- 
tion and  original  sin,  so  his  conversation's  rather  try- 
ing for  a  steady  diet." 

Toppy  shook  hands,  amazed  beyond  expression.  Ex- 
cept for  his  shaggy  eyebrows — brows  that  somehow 
reminded  Toppy  of  the  head  of  a  bear  he  had  once 
shot — Reivers  now  was  the  sort  of  man  one  would 
expect  to  meet  in  the  University  Club  rather  than  in 
a  logging-camp.  The  brute  had  vanished,  the  gentle- 
man had  appeared;  and  Toppy  was  forced  to  smile 
in  answer  to  Reivers'  genial  smile  of  greeting.  And 
yet,  somewhere  back  in  Reivers'  blue  eyes  Toppy  saw 
lurking  something  which  said,  "I  am  your  master — 
doubt  it  if  you  dare." 

"I  hired  out  as  blacksmith's  helper,"  he  explained. 
"My  name's  Treplin." 

He  did  not  take  his  eyes  from  Reivers'.  Somehow 
he  had  the  sensation  that  Reivers'  will  and  his  own 
had  leaped  to  a  grapple. 


38  The  Snow-Burner 

Reivers  laughed  aloud  in  friendly  fashion. 

"Blacksmith's  helper,  eh?"  he  said.  "That's  good; 
that's  awfully  good !  Well,  old  man,  I  don't  care  what 
you  hired  out  for,  or  what  your  right  name  is ;  you're 
a  developed  human  being  and  you'll  be  somebody  to 
talk  to  when  these  brutes  grow  too  tiresome."  He 
turned  to  Jerry,  the  driver.  "Well  ?"  he  said  curtly. 

"She's  in  the  office  now,"  he  said. 

"All  right."  Reivers  turned  and  went  briskly  toward 
the  gate.  "Turn  Mr.  Treplin  over  to  Campbell.  You'll 
live  with  Campbell,  Treplin,"  he  called  over  his 
shoulder,  as  he  went  through  the  gate.  "And  you  hit 
the  back  trail,  Jerry,  right  away." 

As  Jerry  swung  the  team  around  Toppy  saw  that 
Reivers  was  going  toward  the  office  with  long,  eager 
strides. 


CHAPTER  V 

TOPPY   OVERHEARS   A    CONVERSATION 

OLD  Campbell,  the  blacksmith,  had  knocked  off 
from  the  day's  work  when,  a  few  minutes  later, 
Toppy  stepped  from  the  sleigh  before  the  door  of  the 
shop. 

"Go  through  the  shop  to  that  room  in  the  back," 
said  Jerry.  "You'll  find  him  in  there."  And  he  drove 
off  without  another  word. 

Toppy  walked  in  and  knocked  at  a  door  in  a  parti- 
tion across  the  rear  of  the  shop. 

"Come  in,"  spluttered  a  moist,  cheery  voice,  and 
Toppy  entered.  The  old  blacksmith,  naked  to  the 
waist  and  soaped  from  shoulders  to  ears,  looked  up 
from  the  steaming  tub  in  which  he  was  carefully  re- 
moving every  trace  of  the  day's  smut.  He  peered 
sharply  at  Toppy,  and  at  the  sight  of  the  young  man's 
good-natured  face  he  smiled  warmly  through  the  suds. 

"Come  in,  come  in.  Shut  the  door,"  he  cried,  plung- 
ing back  into  the  hot  water.  "I  tak'  it  that  you're  my 
new  helper?  Well — "  he  wiped  the  suds  from  his  eyes 
and  looked  Toppy  over — "though  it's  plain  ye  never 
did  a  day's  blacksmithing  in  your  life,  I  bid  ye  wel- 
come, nevertheless.  Ye  look  like  an  educated  man. 
Well,  'twill  be  a  pleasure  and  an  honour  for  me  to  teach 
ye  something  more  important  than  all  ye've  learned  be- 
fore— and  that  is,  how  to  work. 

"I  see  ye  cam'  withoot  baggage  of  any  kind.  Go 
ye  now  across  to  the  store  before  it  closes  and  draw 
yerself  two  blankets  for  yer  bunk.  By  the  time  you're 

39 


40  The  Snow-Burner 

back  I'll  have  our  supper  started  and  then  we'll  pro- 
ceed to  get  acqua'nted." 

"Tell  me!"  exploded  Toppy,  who  could  hold  in 
no  longer.  "What  kind  of  a  man  or  beast  is  this 
Reivers?  Why,  I  just  saw  him  deliberately  break  a 
man's  leg  out  there  in  the  yard !  What  kind  of  a  place 
is  this,  anyhow — a  penal  colony  ?" 

Campbell  turned  away  and  picked  up  a  towel  be- 
fore replying. 

"Reivers  is  a  great  man  who  worships  after  strange 
gods,"  he  said  solemnly.  "But  you'll  have  plenty  of 
time  to  learn  about  that  later.  Go  ye  over  to  the  store 
now  without  further  waiting.  Ye'll  find  them  closed 
if  ye  dally  longer;  and  then  ye'll  have  a  cold  night, 
for  there's  no  blankets  here  for  your  bunk.  Hustle, 
lad;  we'll  talk  about  things  after  supper." 

Toppy  obeyed  cheerfully.  It  was  growing  dark 
now,  and  as  he  stepped  out  of  the  shop  he  saw  the 
squaw  lighting  the  lamps  in  the  building  across  the 
street.  Toppy  crossed  over  and  found  the  door  open. 
Inside  there  was  a  small  hallway  with  two  doors,  one 
labelled  "Store,"  the  other  "Office."  Toppy  was  about 
to  enter  the  store,  when  he  heard  Miss  Pearson's  voice 
in  the  office,  and  her  first  words,  which  came  plainly 
through  the  partition,  made  him  pause. 

"Mr.  Reivers,"  she  was  saying  in  tones  that  she 
struggled  to  make  firm,  "you  know  that  if  I  had 
known  you  were  running  this  camp  I  would  never  have 
come  here.  You  deceived  me.  You  signed  the  name 
of  Simmons  to  your  letter.  You  knew  that  if  you 
had  signed  your  own  name  I  would  not  be  here.  You 
tricked  me. 

"And  you  promised  solemnly  last  Summer  when  I 
told  you  I  never  could  care  for  you  that  you  would 
never  trouble  me  again.  How  could  you  do  this? 
You've  got  the  reputation  among  men  of  never  break- 


A  Conversation  41 

ing  your  word.  Why  couldn't  you — why  couldn't  you 
keep  youf'word  with  me — a  woman  ?" 

Toppy,  playing  the  role  of  eavesdropper  for  the  first 
time,  scarcely  breathed  as  he  caught  the  full  import  of 
these  words.  Then  Reivers  began  to  speak,  his  deep 
voice  rich  with  earnestness  and  feeling. 

"I  will — I  am  keeping  my  word  to  you,  Helen,"  he 
said.  "I  said  I  would  not  trouble  you  again;  and  I 
will  not.  It's  true  that  I  did  not  let  you  know  that  I 
was  running  this  camp ;  and  I  did  it  because  I  wanted 
you  to  have  this  job,  and  I  knew  you  wouldn't  come  if 
you  knew  I  was  here.  You  wouldn't  let  me  give  you, 
or  even  loan  you,  the  three  hundred  dollars  necessary 
for  your  father's  operation. 

"I  know  you,  Helen,  and  I  know  that  you  haven't 
had  a  happy  day  since  you  were  told  that  your  father 
would  be  a  well  man  after  an  operation  and  you 
couldn't  find  the  money  to  pay  for  it.  I  knew  you 
were  going  to  work  in  hopes  of  earning  it.  I  had 
this  place  to  fill  in  the  office  here ;  I  was  authorised  to 
pay  as  high  as  seventy-five  dollars  for  a  good  book- 
keeper. Naturally  I  thought  of  you. 

"I  knew  there  was  no  other  place  where  you  could 
earn  seventy-five  dollars  a  month,  and  save  it.  I 
knew  you  wouldn't  come  if  I  wrote  you  over  my  own 
name.  So  I  signed  Simmons'  name,  and  you  came.  I 
said  I  would  not  trouble  you  any  more,  and  I  keep 
my  word.  The  situation  is  this :  you  will  be  in  charge 
of  this  office — if  you  stay;  I  am  in  charge  of  the  camp. 
You  will  have  little  or  nothing  to  do  with  me;  I  will 
manage  so  that  you  will  need  to  see  me  only  when  ab- 
solutely necessary.  Your  living-rooms  are  in  the  rear 
of  the  office.  I  live  in  the  stockade.  Tilly,  the  squaw, 
will  cook  and  wash  for  you,  and  do  the  hard  work  in 
the  store.  In  four  months  you  will  have  the  three 
hundred  dollars  that  you  want  for  your  father. 


42  The  Snow-Burner 

"I  had  much  rather  you  would  accept  it  from  me  as 
a  loan  on  a  simple  business  basis;  but  as  you  won't, 
this  is  the  next  best  thing.  And  you  mustn't  feel 
that  you  are  accepting  any  favour  from  me.  On  the 
contrary,  you  will,  if  you  stay,  be  solving  a  big  prob- 
lem for  me.  I  simply  can  not  handle  accounts.  A 
strange  bookkeeper  could  rob  me  and  the  company 
blind,  and  I'd  never  know  it.  I  know  you  won't 
do  that ;  and  I  know  that  you're  efficient. 

"That's  the  situation.  I  am  keeping  my  word :  I  will 
not  trouble  you.  If  you  decide  to  accept,  go  in  and 
take  off  your  hat  and  coat  and  tell  Tilly  to  prepare 
supper  for  you.  She  will  obey  your  orders  blindly; 
I  have  told  her  to.  If  you  decide  that  you  don't 
want  to  stay,  say  the  word  and  I  will  have  one  of  the 
work-teams  hooked  up  and  you  can  go  back  to  Rail 
Head  to-night. 

"But  whichever  you  do,  Helen,  please  remember 
that  I  have  not  broken — and  never  will  break — my 
promise  to  you." 

Before  Reivers  had  begun  to  speak  Toppy  had  hated 
the  man  as  a  contemptible  sneak  guilty  of  lying  to  get 
the  girl  at  his  mercy.  The  end  of  the  Manager's  speech 
left  him  bewildered.  One  couldn't  help  wanting  to 
believe  every  word  that  Reivers  said,  there  were  so 
much  manliness  and  sincerity  in  his  tone.  On  the 
other  hand,  Toppy  had  seen  his  face  when  he  was 
handling  the  unfortunate  Rosky,  and  the  unashamed 
brute  that  had  showed  itself  then  did  not  fit  with  this 
remarkable  speech.  Then  Toppy  heard  Reivers  com- 
ing toward  the  door. 

"I  will  leave  you;  you  can  make  up  your  mind 
alone,"  he  said.  "I've  got  to  attend  to  one  of  the  men 
who  has  been  hurt.  If  you  decide  to  go  back  to  Rail 
Head,  tell  Tilly,  and  she'll  hunt  me  up  and  I'll  send  a 
team  over  right  away." 


A  Conversation  43 

He  stepped  briskly  out  in  the  hallway  and  saw 
Toppy  standing  with  his  hand  on  the  door  of  the  store. 

"Oh,  hello,  there!"  he  called  out  cheerily.  "Camp- 
bell tell  you  to  draw  your  blankets?  That's  the  first 
step  in  the  process  of  becoming  a — guest  at  Hell  Camp. 
Get  a  pair  of  XX ;  they're  the  warmest." 

He  passed  swiftly  out  of  the  building. 

"I  say,  Treplin,"  he  called  back  from  a  distance, 
"did  you  ever  set  a  broken  leg?" 

"Never,"  said  Toppy. 

"I'll  give  you  'Davis  on  Fractures'  to  read  up  on," 
said  Reivers  with  a  laugh.  "I  think  I'll  appoint  you 
M.  D.  to  this  camp.  'Doctor  Treplin.'  How  would 
that  be?" 

His  careless  laughter  came  floating  back  as  he  made 
his  way  swiftly  to  the  stockade. 

For  a  moment  Toppy  stood  irresolute.  Then  he 
did  something  that  required  more  courage  from  him 
than  anything  he  had  done  before  in  his  life.  He 
stepped  boldly  across  the  hallway  and  entered  the 
office,  closing  the  door  behind  him. 


CHAPTER   VI 
"NICE  BOY!" 

MISS  PEARSON!"  Toppy  spoke  as  he  crossed 
the  threshold ;  then  he  stopped  short. 

The  girl  was  sitting  in  a  big  chair  before  a  desk 
in  the  farther  corner  of  the  room.  She  was  dressed 
just  as  she  had  been  on  the  drive ;  she  had  not  removed 
cap,  coat  or  gloves  since  arriving.  Her  hands  lay 
palms  up  in  her  lap,  her  square  little  shoulders  sagged, 
and  her  face  was  pale  and  troubled.  A  tiny  crease  of 
worry  had  come  between  her  wonderful  blue  eyes,  and 
her  gaze  wandered  uncertainly,  as  if  seeking  help  in 
the  face  of  a  problem  that  had  proved  too  hard  for  her 
to  handle  alone.  At  the  sight  of  Toppy,  instead  of 
giving  way  to  a  look  of -relief,  her  troubled  expression 
deepened.  She  started.  She  seemed  even  to  shrink 
from  him.  The  words  froze  in  Toppy's  mouth  and  he 
stood  stock-still. 

"Don't!"  he  groaned  boyishly.  "Please  don't  look 
at  me  like  that,  Miss  Pearson!  I — I'm  not  that  sort. 
I  want  to  help  you — if  you  need  it.  I  heard  what 

Reivers  just  said.  I What  do  you  take  me  for, 

anyhow?  A  mucker  who  would  force  himself  upon 
a  lady?" 

The  anguish  in  his  tone  and  in  his  honest,  good- 
natured  countenance  was  too  real  to  be  mistaken.  He 
had  cried  out  from  the  depths  of  a  clean  heart  which 
had  been  stirred  strangely,  and  the  woman  in  the  girl 
responded  with  quick  sympathy.  She  looked  at  him 

44 


"Nice  Boy!"  45 

with  a  look  that  would  have  aroused  the  latent  man- 
hood in  a  cad — which  Toppy  was  not — and  Toppy,  in 
his  eagerness,  found  that  he  could  look  back. 

"Why  did  you  come  out  here?"  she  asked  plaintively. 
"Why  did  you  decide  to  follow  me,  after  you  had 
heard  that  I  was  coming  here  ?  I  know  you  did  that ; 
you  hadn't  intended  coming  here  until  you  heard. 
What  made  you  do  it?" 

"Because  you  came  here,"  said  Toppy  honestly. 

"But  why — why " 

Toppy  had  regained  control  of  himself. 

"Why  do  you  think  I  did  it,  Miss  Pearson?"  he 
asked  quietly. 

"I — I  don't  want  to  think — what  I  think,"  she  stam- 
mered. 

"And  that  is  that  I'm  a  cad,  the  sort  of  a  mucker 
who  forces  his  attentions  upon  women  who  are  alone." 

"Well — "  she  looked  up  with  a  challenge  in  her  eyes 
— '"you  had  been  drinking,  hadn't  you?  Could  you 
blame  me  if  I  did?" 

"Not  a  bit,"  said  Toppy.  "I'm  the  one  whose  to 
blame.  I'm  the  goat.  I  don't  suppose  I  had  a  right 
to  butt  in.  Of  course  I  didn't.  I'm  a  big  fool ;  always 
have  been.  I — I  just  couldn't  stand  for  seeing  you 
start  out  for  this  Hell  Camp  alone;  that's  all.  It's 
no  reason,  I  know,  but — there  you  are.  I'd  heard 
something  of  the  place  in  the  morning  and  I  had  a 
notion  it  was  a  pretty  tough  place.  You — you  didn't 

look  as  if  you  were  used  to  anything  of  the  sort 

Well,"  he  wound  up  desperately,  "it  didn't  look  right, 
your  going  off  alone  among  all  these  roughnecks ;  and 
— and  that's  why  I  butted  in." 

She  made  no  reply,  and  Toppy  continued : 

"I  didn't  have  any  right  to  do  it,  I  know.  I  deserve 
to  be  suspected " 


46  The  Snow-Burner 

"No!"  she  laughed.  "Please,  Mr.  Treplin!  That 
was  horrid  of  me." 

"Why  was  it?"  he  demanded  abruptly.  "Especially 
after  you  knew — after  this  morning.  But — here's  the 
situation:  I  thought  you  might  need  a  side-kicker 
to  see  you  through,  and  I  appointed  myself  to  the  job. 
You  won't  believe  that,  I  suppose,  but  that's  because 
you  don't  know  how  foolish  I  can  be." 

He  stopped  clumsily,  abashed  by  the  wondering 
scrutiny  to  which  she  was  subjecting  him.  She  arose 
slowly  from  the  chair  and  came  toward  him. 

"I  believe  you,  Mr.  Treplin,"  she  said.  "I  believe 
you're  a  decent  sort  of  boy.  I  want  to  thank  you; 
but  why — why  should  you  think  this  necessary?" 

She  looked  at  him,  smiling  a  little,  and  Toppy,  winc- 
ing from  her  "boy,"  grew  flustered. 

"Well,  you're  not  sorry  I  came?"  he  stammered. 

For  reply  she  shook  her  head.  Toppy  took  a  long 
breath. 

"Thanks !"  he  said  with  such  genuine  relief  that  she 
was  forced  to  smile. 

"But  I'm  a  perfect  stranger  to  you,"  she  said  un- 
certainly. "I  can't  understand  why  you  should  feel 
prompted  to  sacrifice  yourself  so  to  help  me." 

"Sacrifice !"  cried  Toppy.    "Why,  I'm  the  one 

He  stopped.  He  didn't  know  just  what  he  had  intended 
to  say.  Something  that  he  had  no  business  saying, 
probably.  "Anybody  would  have  done  it — anybody 
who  wasn't  a  mucker,  I  mean.  You  can't  have  any  use 
for  me,  of  course,  knowing  what  kind  of  a  dub  I've 
been,  but  if  you'll  just  look  on  me  as  somebody  you 
can  trust  and  fall  back  on  in  case  of  need,  and  who'll 
do  anything  you  want  or  need,  I — I'll  be  more  than 
paid." 

"I  do  trust  you,  Mr.  Treplin,"  she  said,  and  held  out 


"Nice  Boy!"  47 

her  hand.  "But — do  I  look  as  if  I  needed  a  chap- 
eron?" 

Toppy  trembled  at  the  firm  grip  of  the  small,  gloved 
fingers. 

"I  told  you  I'd  heard  what  Reivers  said,"  he  said 
hastily.  "I  didn't  mean  to;  I  was  just  coming  in  to 
get  some  blankets.  I  don't  suppose  you're  going  to 
stay  here  now,  are  you?" 

She  began  to  draw  off  her  gloves. 

"Yes,"  she  said  quietly.  "Mr.  Reivers  is  a  gentle- 
man and  can  be  depended  upon  to  keep  his  word." 

Toppy  winced  once  more.  She  had  called  him  a 
"decent  boy" ;  she  spoke  of  Reivers  as  a  "gentleman." 

"But — good  gracious,  Miss  Pearson!  Three  hun- 
dred dollars if  that's  all " 

He  stopped,  for  her  little  jaw  had  set  with  some- 
thing like  a  click. 

"Are  you  going  to  spoil  things  by  offering  to  lend 
me  that  much  money?"  she  asked.  "Didn't  you  hear 
that  Mr.  Reivers  had  offered  to  do  it?  And  Mr. 
Reivers  isn't  a  complete  stranger  to  me — as  you  are." 

She  placed  her  gloves  in  a  pocket  and  proceeded  to 
unbutton  her  mackinaw. 

"I  don't  think  you  could  mean  anything  wrong  by 
it,"  she  continued.  "But  please  don't  mention  it  again. 
You  don't  wish  to  humiliate  me,  do  you?" 

"Miss  'Pearson!"  stammered  Toppy,  miserable. 

"Don't,  please  don't,"  she  said.  "It's  all  right." 
Her  natural  high  spirits  were  returning.  "Everything's 
all  right.  Mr.  Reivers  never  breaks  his  word,  and 
he's  promised — you  heard  him,  you  say?  And  you've 
promised  to  be  my — what  did  you  call  it? — 'side- 
kicker,'  so  everything's  fine.  Except — "  a  look  of  dis- 
gust passed  over  her  eyes — "your  drinking.  Oh,"  she 
cried  as  she  saw  the  shame  flare  into  Toppy's  face, 


48  The  Snow-Burner 

"I  didn't  mean  to  hurt  you — but  how  can  nice  boys 
like  you  throw  themselves  away?" 

Nice  boy !  Toppy  looked  at  his  toes  for  a  long  time. 
So  that  was  what  she  thought  of  him!  Nice  boy! 

"Do  you  know  much  about  Reivers?"  he  asked  at 
last,  as  if  he  had  forgotten  her  words.  "Or  don't  you 
want  to  tell  me  about  him?"  He  had  sensed  that  he 
was  infinitely  Reivers'  inferior  in  her  estimation,  and 
it  hurt. 

"Certainly  I  do,"  she  said.  "Mr.  Reivers  was  a  fore- 
man for  the  company  that  my  father  was  estimator 
for.  When  father  was  hurt  last  Summer  Mr.  Reivers 
came  to  see  him  on  company  business.  It's  father's 
spine ;  he  couldn't  move ;  Reivers  had  to  come  to  him. 
He  saw  me,  and  two  hours  after  our  meeting  he — 
he  asked  me  to  marry  him.  He  asked  me  again  a 
week  later,  and  once  after  that.  Then  I  told  him  that 
I  never  could  care  for  him  and  he  went  away  and 
promised  he'd  never  trouble  me  again.  You  heard 
our  conversation.  I  hadn't  seen  or  heard  of  him 
since,  until  he  walked  into  this  room.  That's  all  I 
know  about  him,  except  that  people  say  he  never  breaks 
his  word." 

Toppy  winced  as  he  caught  the  note  of  confidence 
in  her  voice  and  thought  of  the  sudden  deadly  treach- 
ery of  Reivers  in  dealing  with  Rosky.  The  girl  with 
a  lithe  movement  threw  off  her  mackinaw. 

"By  Jove!"  Toppy  exploded  in  boyish  admiration. 
"You're  the  bravest  little  soul  I  ever  saw  in  my  life! 
Going  against  a  game  like  this,  just  to  help  your 
father!" 

"Well,  why  shouldn't  I?"  she  asked.  "I'm  the 
only  one  father  has  got.  We're  all  alone,  father  and 
I ;  and  father  is  too  proud  to  take  help  from  any  one 
else;  and — and,"  she  concluded  firmly,  "so  am  I.  As 


"Nice  Boy!"  49 

for  being  brave — have  you  anything  against  Mr. 
Reivers  personally?" 

Thoroughly  routed,  Toppy  turned  to  the  door. 
"Good  night,  Miss  Pearson,"  he  said  politely. 

"Good  night,  Mr.  Treplin.  And  thank  you  for — • 
going  out  of  your  way."  But  had  she  seen  the  flash  in 
Toppy's  eye  and  the  set  of  his  jaw  she  might  not 
have  laughed  so  merrily  as  he  flung  out  of  the  room. 

In  the  store  on  the  other  side  of  the  hallway  Toppy 
was  surprised  to  find  Tilly,  the  squaw,  waiting  pa- 
tiently behind  a  low  counter  on  which  lay  a  pair  of 
blankets  bearing  a  tag  "XX."  As  he  entered,  the 
woman  pushed  the  blankets  toward  him  and  pointed  to 
a  card  lying  on  the  counter. 

"Put  um  name  here,"  she  said,  indicating  a  dotted 
line  on  the  card  and  offering  Toppy  a  pencil  tied  on 
a  string. 

Toppy  saw  that  the  card  was  a  receipt  for  the  blank- 
ets. As  he  signed,  he  looked  closely  at  the  squaw. 
He  was  surprised  to  see  that  she  was  a  young  woman, 
and  that  her  features  and  expression  distinguished 
her  from  the  other  squaws  he  had  seen  by  the  intel- 
ligence they  indicated.  Tilly  was  no  mere  clod  in  a 
red  skin.  Somewhere  back  of  her  inscrutable  Indian 
eyes  was  a  keen,  strong  mind. 

"How  did  you  know  what  I  wanted?"  Toppy  asked 
as  he  packed  the  blankets  under  his  arm. 

The  squaw  made  no  sign  that  she  had  heard.  Pick- 
ing up  the  card,  she  looked  carefully  at  his  signature 
and  turned  to  hang  the  card  on  a  hook. 

"So  you  were  listening  when  Reivers  was  talking 
to  me,  were  you?"  said  Toppy.  "Did  you  listen  after 
he  went  out?" 

"Mebbe,"  grunted  Tilly.  "Mebbe  so;  mebbe  no." 
And  with  this  she  turned  and  waddled  back  into  the 
living-quarters  in  the  rear  of  the  store. 


5O  The  Snow-Burner 

Toppy  looked  after  her  dumfounded. 

"Huh!"  he  said  to  himself.  "I'll  bet  two  to  one 
that  Reivers  knows  all  about  what  we  said  before 
morning.  I  suppose  that  will  mean  something  doing 
pretty  quick.  Well,  the  quicker  the  better." 


CHAPTER  VII 
THE  SNOW-BURNER'S  CREED 

WHEN  Toppy  returned  to  the  room  in  the  rear 
of  the  blacksmith-shop  he  found  Campbell 
waiting  impatiently. 

"Eh,  lad,  but  you're  the  slow  one!"  greeted  the 
gruff  old  Scot  as  Toppy  entered.  "You're  set  a  record 
in  this  camp ;  no  man  yet  has  been  able  to  consume  so 
much  time  getting  a  pair  of  blankets  from  the  wanni- 
gan.  Dump  'em  in  yon  bunk  in  the  corner  and  set 
the  table.  I'll  have  supper  in  a  wink  and  a  half." 

Toppy  obediently  tossed  his  blankets  into  the  bunk 
indicated  and  turned  to  help  to  the  best  of  his  ability. 
The  place  now  was  lighted  generously  by  two  large 
reflector-lamps  hung  on  the  walls,  and  Toppy  had  his 
first  good  view  of  the  room  that  was  to  be  his  home. 

He  was  surprised  at  its  neatness  and  comfort.  It 
was  a  large  room,  though  a  little  low  under  the  roof, 
as  rooms  have  a  habit  of  being  in  the  North.  In  the 
farthest  corner  were  two  bunks,  the  sleeping-quarters. 
Across  the  room  from  this,  a  corner  was  filled  with 
well  filled  bookshelves,  a  table  with  a  reading-lamp, 
and  two  easy  chairs,  giving  the  air  of  a  tiny  library. 
In  the  corner  farthest  from  this  was  the  cook-stove, 
and  in  the  fourth  corner  stood  an  oilcloth-covered 
table  with  a  shelf  filled  with  dishes  hung  above  it. 
Though  the  rough  edges  of  hewn  logs  shown  here  and 
there  through  the  plaster  of  the  walls,  the  room  was  as 
spick  and  span  as  if  under  the  charge  of  a  finicky 
housewife.  Old  Campbell  himself,  bending  over  the 


52  The  Snow-Burner 

cook  stove,  was  as  astonishing  in  his  own  way  as  the 
room.  He  had  removed  all  trace  of  the  day's  smithing 
and  fairly  shone  with  cleanliness.  His  snow-white 
hair  was  carefully  combed  back  from  his  wide  fore- 
head, his  bushy  chin-whiskers  likewise  showed  signs 
of  water  and  comb,  and  he  was  garbed  from  throat  to 
ankles  in  a  white  cook's  apron.  He  was  cheerfully 
humming  a  dirge-like  tune,  and  so  occupied  was  he 
with  his  cookery  that  he  scarcely  so  much  as  glanced 
at  Toppy. 

"Now  then,  lad ;  are  you  ready  ?"  he  asked  presently. 

"All  ready,  I  guess,"  said  Toppy,  giving  a  final 
look  at  the  table. 

"You've  forgot  the  bread,"  said  Campbell,  also  look- 
ing. "You'll  find  it  in  yon  tin  box  on  the  shelf.  Lively, 
now."  And  before  Toppy  had  dished  out  a  loaf  from 
the  bread-box  the  old  man  had  a  huge  platter  of  steak 
and  twin  bowls  of  potatoes  and  turnips  steaming  on 
the  table. 

"We  will  now  say  grace,"  said  Campbell,  seating 
himself  after  removing  the  big  apron,  and  Toppy  sat 
silent  and  amazed  as  the  old  man  bowed  his  head  and 
in  his  deep  voice  solemnly  uttered  thanks  for  the  meal 
before  him. 

"Now  then,"  he  said  briskly,  raising  his  head  and 
reaching  for  a  fork  as  he  ended,  "fall  to." 

The  meal  was  eaten  without  any  more  conversation 
than  was  necessary.  When  it  was  over,  the  black- 
smith pushed  his  chair  leisurely  back  from  the  table 
and  looked  across  at  Toppy  with  a  quizzical  smile. 

"Well,  lad,"  he  rumbled,  "what  would  ye  say  was 
the  next  thing  to  be  done  by  oursel's  ?" 

"Wash  the  dishes,"  said  Toppy  promptly,  taking  his 
cue  from  the  conspicuous  cleanliness  of  the  room. 

"Aye,"  said  Campbell,  nodding.  "And  as  I  cook  the 
meal " 


The  Snow-Burner's  Creed         53 

"I'm  elected  dish-washer,"  laughed  Toppy,  spring- 
ing up  and  taking  a  large  dish-pan  from  the  wall.  He 
had  often  done  his  share  of  kitchen-work  on  hunting- 
trips,  and  soon  he  had  the  few  dishes  washed  and  dried 
and  back  on  the  shelf  again.  Campbell  watched  crit- 
ically. 

"Well  enough,"  he  said  with  an  approving  jerk  of 
his  head  when  the  task  was  completed.  "Your  con- 
science should  be  easier  now,  lad ;  you've  done  some- 
thing to  pay  for  the  meal  you've  eaten,  which  I'll  war- 
rant is  something  you've  not  often  done." 

"No,"  laughed  Toppy,  "it  just  happens  that  I  haven't 
had  to." 

"  'Haven't  had  to !'  "  snorted  Campbell  in  disgust. 
"Is  that  all  the  justification  you  have?  Where's  your 
pride?  Are  you  a  helpless  infant  that  you're  not 
ashamed  to  let  other  people  stuff  food  into  your  mouth 
without  doing  anything  for  it?  I  suppose  you've  got 
money.  And  where  came  your  money  from?  Your 
father?  Your  mother?  No  matter.  Whoever  it  came 
from,  they're  the  people  who've  been  feeding  you, 
but  by  the  great  smoked  herring!  If  you  stay  wi' 
David  Campbell  you'll  have  a  change,  lad.  Aye, 
you'll  learn  what  it  is  to  earn  your  bread  in  the  sweat 
of  your  brow.  And  you'll  bless  the  day  you  come 
here — no  matter  what  the  reason  that  made  you  come, 
and  which  I  do  not  want  to  hear." 

Toppy  bowed  courteously. 

"I've  got  no  come-back  to  that  line  of  conversation, 
Mr.  Campbell,"  he  said  good-naturedly.  "Whenever 
anybody  accuses  me  of  being  a  bum  with  money  I 
throw  up  my  hands  and  plead  guilty;  you  can't  get 
an  argument  out  of  me  with  a  corkscrew." 

Old  Campbell's  grim  face  cracked  in  a  genial  smile 
as  he  rose  and  led  the  way  to  the  corner  containing 
the  bookshelves. 


54  The  Snow-Burner 

"We  will  now  step  into  the  library,"  he  chuckled. 
"Sit  ye  down." 

He  pushed  one  of  the  easy  chairs  toward  Toppy,  and 
from  a  cupboard  under  the  reading-table  drew  a  bottle 
of  Scotch  whisky  of  a  celebrated  brand.  Toppy's 
whole  being  suddenly  cried  out  for  a  drink  as  his  eyes 
fell  on  the  familiar  four  stars. 

"Say  when,  lad,"  said  Campbell,  pouring  into  a 
generous  glass.  "Well  ?'  He  looked  at  Toppy  in  sur- 
prise as  the  glass  filled  up.  Something  had  smitten 

Toppy  like  a  blow  between  the  eyes "How  can 

nice  boys  like  you  throw  themselves  away?"  And  the 
pity  of  the  girl  as  she  had  said  it  was  large  before 
him. 

"Thanks,"  said  Toppy,  seating  himself,  "but  I'm 
on  the  wagon." 

The  old  smith  looked  up  at  him  shrewdly  from  the 
corners  of  his  eyes. 

"Oh,  aye !"  he  grunted.  "I  see.  Well,  by  the  puffs 
under  your  eyes  ye  have  overdone  it;  and  for  fleeing 
the  temptations  of  the  world  I  know  of  no  better 
place  ye  could  go  to  than  this.  For  it's  certain  neither 
temptations  nor  luxuries  will  be  found  in  Hell  Camp 
while  the  Snow-Burner's  boss." 

"Now  you  interest  me,"  said  Toppy  grimly.  "The 
Snow-Burner — Hell-Camp  Reivers — Mr.  Reivers — the 
boss.  What  kind  of  a  human  being  is  he,  if  he  is 
human  ?" 

Campbell  carefully  mixed  his  whisky  with  hot 
water. 

"You  saw  him  manhandle  Rosky?"  he  asked,  seat- 
ing himself  opposite  Toppy. 

"Yes;  but  it  wasn't  manhandling;  it  was  brute- 
handling,  beast-handling." 

"Aye,"  said  the  Scot,  sipping  his  drink.  "So  think 
I,  too.  But  do  you  know  what  Reivers  calls  it?  An 


The  Snow-Burner's  Creed         55 

enlightened  man  showing  a  human  clod  the  error  of  his 
ways.  Oh,  aye;  the  Indians  were  smart  when  they 
named  him  the  Snow-Burner.  He  does  things  that 
aren't  natural." 

"But  who  is  he,  or  what  is  he?  He's  an  educated 
man,  obviously — 'way  above  what  a  logging-boss 
ought  to  be.  What  do  you  know  about  him?" 

"Little  enough,"  was  the  reply.  "Four  year  ago  I 
were  smithing  in  Elk  Lake  Camp  over  east  of  here, 
when  Reivers  came  walking  into  camp.  That  was 
the  first  any  white  men  had  seen  of  him  around  these 
woods,  though  afterward  we  learned  he'd  lived  long 
enough  with  the  Indians  to  earn  the  name  of  the  Snow- 
Burner. 

"It  were  January,  and  two  feet  of  snow  on  the  level, 
and  fifty  below.  Reivers  came  walking  into  camp, 
and  the  nearest  human  habitation  were  forty  mile 
away.  'Red  Pat'  Haney  were  foreman — a  man-killer 
with  the  devil's  own  temper;  and  him  Reivers  dee- 
liberately  set  himself  to  arouse.  A  week  after  his 
coming,  this  same  Reivers  had  every  man  in  camp 
looking  up  to  him,  except  Red  Pat. 

"And  Reivers  drove  Pat  half  mad  with  that  con- 
temptuous smile  of  his,  and  Pat  pulled  a  gun;  and 
Reivers  says,  'That's  what  I  was  waiting  for,'  and 
broke  Pat's  bones  with  his  bare  hands  and  laid  him  up. 
Then,  says  he,  'This  camp  is  going  on  just  the  same  as 
if  nothing  had  happened,  and  I'm  going  to  be  boss.' 
That  was  all  there  was  to  it;  he's  been  a  boss  ever 
since." 

"And  you  don't  know  where  he  came  from?  Or 
anything  else  about  him?" 

"Oh,  he's  from  England — an  Oxford  man,  for  that 
matter,"  said  Campbell.  "He  admitted  that  much  once 
when  we  were  argufying.  He'll  be  here  soon;  he 
comes  to  quarrel  with  me  every  evening." 


56  The  Snow-Burner 

"Why  does  an  Oxford  man  want  to  be  'way  out  here 
bossing  a  logging-camp?"  grumbled  Toppy. 

Campbell  nodded. 

"Aye,  I  asked  that  of  him  once,"  he  said.  "  Though 
it's  none  of  your  business/  says  he,  'I'll  tell  you.  I  got 
tired  of  living  where  people  snivel  about  laws  concern- 
ing right  and  wrong,'  says  he,  'instead  of  acknowl- 
edging that  there  is  only  one  law  ruling  life — that  the 
strong  can  master  the  weak.'  That  is  Mr.  Reivers' 
religion.  He  was  only  worshipping  his  strange  gods 
when  he  broke  Rosky's  leg,  for  he  considers  Rosky  a 
weaker  man  than  himself,  and  therefore  'tis  his  duty 
to  break  him  to  his  own  will." 

"A  fine  religion!"  snapped  Toppy.  "And  how 
about  his  dealings  with  you?" 

The  Scot  smiled  grimly. 

"I'm  the  best  smith  he  ever  had,"  he  replied,  "and 
I've  warned  him  that  I'd  consider  it  a  duty  under  my 
religion  to  shoot  him  through  the  head  did  he  ever 
attempt  to  force  his  creed  upon  me."  He  paused  and 
held  up  a  ringer.  "Hist,  lad.  That's  him  coming 
noo.  He's  come  for  his  regular  evening's  mouth fu' 
of  conversation." 

Toppy  found  himself  sitting  up  and  gripping  the 
arms  of  his  chair  as  Reivers  came  swinging  in.  He 
eagerly  searched  the  foreman's  countenance  for  a  sign 
to  indicate  whether  Tilly,  the  squaw,  had  communi- 
cated the  conversation  she  had  heard  between  Toppy 
and  Miss  Pearson,  but  if  she  had  there  was  nothing  to 
indicate  it  in  Reivers'  expression  or  manner.  His  self- 
mastery  awoke  a  sullen  rage  in  Toppy.  He  felt  him- 
self to  be  a  boy  beside  Reivers. 

"Good  evening,  gentlemen,"  greeted  Reivers  lightly, 
pulling  a  chair  up  to  the  reading-table.  "It  is  a  pleas- 
ure to  find  intelligent  society  after  having  spent  the 
last  hour  handling  the  broken  leg  of  a  miserable  brute 


The  Snow-Burner's  Creed         57 

on  two  legs.  Bah!  The  whisky,  Scotty,  please.  I 
wonder  what  miracles  of  misbreeding  have  been  neces- 
sary to  turn  out  alleged  human  beings  with  bodies  so 
hideous  compared  to  what  the  human  body  should  be. 
Treplin,  if  you  or  I  stripped  beside  those  Hunkies  the 
only  thing  we'd  have  in  common  would  be  the  number 
of  our  legs  and  arms." 

He  drew  toward  him  a  tumbler  which  Campbell  had 
pushed  over  beside  the  bottle  and,  filling  the  glass 
three-quarters  full,  began  to  drink  slowly  at  the  power- 
ful Scotch  whisky  as  another  man  might  sip  at  beer 
or  light  wine.  Old  Campbell  rocked  slowly  to  and 
fro  in  his  chair. 

"  'He  that  taketh  up  the  sword  shall  perish  by 
the  sword/  "  he  quoted  solemnly.  "No  man  is  a 
god  to  set  himself  up,  lord  over  the  souls  and  bodies 
of  his  fellows.  They  will  put  out  your  light  for  you 
one  of  these  days,  Mr.  Reivers.  Have  care  and  treat 
them  a  little  more  like  men." 

Reivers  smiled  a  quick  smile  that  showed  a  mouth- 
ful of  teeth  as  clean  and  white  as  a  hound's. 

"Let's  have  your  opinion  on  the  subject,  Treplin," 
he  said.  "New  opinions  are  always  interesting,  and 
Scotty  repeats  the  same  thing  over  and  over  again. 
What  do  you  think  of  it?  Do  you  think  I  can  main- 
tain my  rule  over  those  hundred  and  fifty  clods  out 
there  in  the  stockade  as  I  am  ruling  them,  through  the 
law  of  strength  over  weakness?  Do  you  think  one 
superior  mind  can  dominate  a  hundred  and  fifty  in- 
ferior organisms  ?  Or  do  you  think,  with  Scotty  here, 
that  the  dregs  can  drag  me  down  ?" 

Toppy  shook  his  head.  He  was  in  no  mood  to  de- 
bate abstract  problems  with  Reivers. 

"Count  me  out  until  I'm  a  little  acquainted  with 
the  situation,"  he  said.  "I'm  a  stranger  in  a  strange 


58  The  Snow-Burner 

land.  I've  just  dropped  in — from  almost  another 
world  you  might  say." 

In  a  vain  attempt  to  escape  taking  sides  in  what  was 
evidently  an  old  argument  he  hurriedly  rattled  off  the 
story  of  his  coming  to  Rail  Head  and  thence  to  Hell 
Camp,  omitting  to  mention,  however,  that  it  was  Miss 
Pearson  who  was  responsible  for  the  latter  part  of  his 
journey.  Reivers  smote  his  huge  fist  upon  the  table 
as  Toppy  finished. 

"That's  the  kind  of  a  man  for  me!"  he  laughed. 
"Got  tired  of  living'  the  life  of  his  class,  and  just 
stepped  out  of  it.  No  explanations ;  no  acknowledge- 
ment of  obligations  to  anybody.  Master  of  his  own 

soul.  To with  the  niceties  of  civilisation  [  Trep- 

lin,  you're  a  man  after  my  own  scheme  of  life;  I  did 
the  same  thing  once — only  I  was  sober. 

"But  let's  get  back  to  our  subject.  Here's  the  situa- 
tion: This  camp  is  on  a  natural  town-site.  There's 
water-power,  ore  and  timber.  To  use  the  water-power 
we  must  build  a  dam ;  to  use  the  timber  we  must  get  it 
to  the  saws.  That  takes  labour,  lots  of  it — muscle-and- 
bone  labour.  Labour  is  scarce  up  here.  It  is  too  far 
from  the  pigsties  of  towns.  Men  would  come,  work  a 
few  days,  and  go  away.  The  purpose  of  the  place 
would  be  defeated — unless  the  men  are  kept  here  at 
work. 

"That's  what  I  do.  I  keep  them  here.  To  do  it  I 
keep  them  locked  up  at  night  like  the  cattle  they  are. 
By  day  I  have  them  guarded  by  armed  man-killers — 
every  one  of  my  guards  is  a  fugitive  from  man's  silly 
laws,  principally  from  the  one  which  says,  'Thou  shalt 
not  kill.' 

"But  my  best  guard  is  Fear — by  which  I  rule  alike 
my  guards  and  the  poor  brutes  who  are  necessary  to 
my  purpose.  There  you  are :  a  hundred  and  fifty  of 
them,  fearing  and  hating  me,  and  I'm  making  them  do 


The  Snow-Burner's  Creed         59 

as  I  please.  No  foolishness  about  laws,  about  order, 
about  right  or  wrong.  Just  a  hundred  and  fifty  half- 
beasts  and  myself  out  here  in  the  woods.  As  a  man 
with  a  trained  mind,  do  you  think  I  can  keep  it  up? 
Or  do  you  think  there  is  mental  energy  enough  in 
that  mess  of  human  protoplasm  to  muster  up  nerve 
enough  to  put  out  my  light,  as  Scotty  puts  it?  It's  a 
problem  that  furnishes  interesting  mental  gymnastics." 

He  propounded  the  problem  with  absolutely  no  trace 
of  personal  interest.  To  judge  by  his  manner,  the  mat- 
ter of  his  life  or  death  meant  nothing  to  him.  It  was 
merely  an  interesting  question  on  which  to  expend  the 
energy  fulminating  in  his  mind.  In  his  light-blue  eyes 
there  seemed  to  gleam  the  same  impersonal  brutality 
which  had  shown  out  when  he  so  casually  crippled 
Rosky. 

"Oh,  it's  an  impossible  proposition,  Reivers!"  ex- 
ploded Toppy,  with  the  picture  of  the  writhing  Slav 
in  his  mind's  eye.  "You've  got  to  consider  right  and 
wrong  when  dealing  with  human  beings.  It  isn't 
natural ;  Nature  won't  stand  it." 

"Ah !"  Reivers'  eyes  lighted  up  with  intellectual  de- 
light. "That's  an  idea!  Scotty,  you  hear?  You've 
been  talking  about  my  perishing  by  the  sword,  but 
you  haven't  given  any  reason  why.  Treplin  does. 
He  says  Nature  will  revolt,  because  my  system  is  un- 
natural." He  threw  back  his  head  and  laughed  coldly. 
"Rot,  Treplin — silly,  effeminate,  bookish  rot!"  he 
roared.  "Nature  has  respect  only  for  the  strong.  It 
creates  the  weaker  species  merely  to  give  the  stronger 
food  to  remain  strong  on." 

Old  Scotty  had  been  rocking  furiously.  Now  he 
stopped  suddenly  and  broke  out  into  a  furious  Biblical 
denunciation  of  Reivers'  system.  When  he  stopped 
for  breath  after  his  first  outbreak,  Reivers  with  a 
few  words  and  a  cold  smile  egged  him  on.  Toppy 


60  The  Snow-Burner 

gladly  kept  his  mouth  shut.  After  an  hour  he  yawned 
and  arose  from  his  chair. 

"If  you'll  excuse  me,  I'll  turn  in,"  he  said.  "I'm 
too  sleepy  to  listen  or  talk." 

Without  looking  at  him  Reivers  drew  a  book  from 
his  pocket  and  tossed  it  toward  him. 

"  'Davis  on  Fractures',"  he  grunted.  "Cram  up  on 
it  to-morrow.  There  will  be  need  of  your  help  before 
long.  Go  on,  Scotty;  you  were  saying  that  a  just 
retribution  was  Nature's  law.  Go  on." 

And  Toppy  rolled  into  his  bunk,  to  lie  wide  awake, 
listening  to  the  argument,  marvelling  at  the  character 
of  Reivers,  and  pondering  over  the  strange  situation 
he  had  fallen  into.  He  scarcely  thought  of  what 
Harvey  Buncombe  and  the  bunch  would  be  thinking 
about  his  disappearance.  His  thoughts  were  mainly 
occupied  with  wondering  why,  of  all  the  women  he 
had  seen,  a  slender  little  girl  with  golden  hair  should 
suddenly  mean  so  much  to  him.  Nothing  of  the  sort 
ever  had  happened  to  him  before.  It  was  rather  an- 
noying. Could  she  ever  have  a  good  opinion  of  him? 

Probably  not.  And  even  if  she  could,  what  about 
Reivers  ?  Toppy  was  firmly  convinced  that  the  speech 
which  Reivers  had  made  to  Miss  Pearson  was  a  false 
one.  Reivers  might  have  a  great  reputation  for  al- 
ways keeping  his  word,  but  Toppy,  after  what  he  had 
seen  and  heard,  would  no  more  trust  to  his  morals  than 
those  of  a  hungry  bear.  If  Tilly,  the  squaw,  told 
Reivers  what  she  had  heard,  what  then  ?  Well,  in  that 
case  they  would  soon  know  whether  Reivers  meant 
to  keep  his  promise  not  to  bother  Miss  Pearson  with 
his  attentions.  Toppy  set  his  jaw  grimly  at  the 
thought  of  what  might  happen  then.  The  mere 
thought  of  Reivers  seemed  to  make  his  fists  clench 
hard. 

He  lay  awake  for  a  long  time  with  Reivers'  voice, 


The  Snow-Burner's  Creed        61 

coldly  bantering  Campbell,  constantly  in  his  ears. 
When  Reivers  finally  went  away  he  fell  asleep.  Before 
his  closed  eyes  was  the  picture  of  the  girl  as,  in  the 
morning,  she  had  kicked  up  the  snow  and  looked  up  at 
him  with  her  eyes  deliciously  puckered  from  the  sun; 
and  in  his  memory  was  the  stinging  recollection  that 
she  had  called  him  a  "nice  boy." 


CHAPTER  VIII 

TOPPY  WORKS 

AT  daylight  next  morning  began  Toppy's  initia- 
tion as  a  blacksmith's  helper.  For  the  next 
four  days  he  literally  earned  his  bread  in  the  sweat 
of  his  brow,  as  Campbell  had  warned  him  he  would. 
The  dour  old  Scot  took  it  as  his  religious  duty  to  give 
his  helper  a  severe  introduction  to  the  world  of  man- 
ual labour,  and  circumstances  aided  him  in  his  aim. 

Two  dozen  huge  wooden  sleighs  had  come  from 
the  "wood-butcher" — the  camp  carpenter-shop — to  be 
fitted  with  cross-rods,  brace-irons  and  runners.  Out 
in  the  woods  the  ice-roads,  carefully  sprinkled  each 
night,  were  alternately  freezing  and  thawing,  gradu- 
ally approaching  the  solid  condition  which  would  mean 
a  sudden  call  for  sleighs  to  haul  the  logs,  which  lay 
mountain-high  at  the  rollways,  down  to  the  river. 
One  cold  night  and  day  now,  and  the  call  would 
come,  and  David  Campbell  was  not  the  man  to  be 
found  wanting — even  if  handicapped  by  a  helper  with 
hands  as  soft  as  a  woman's. 

Toppy  had  no  knowledge  or  skill  in  the  trade,  but 
he  had  strength  and  quickness,  and  the  thoughts  of 
Reivers'  masterfulness,  and  the  "nice  boy"  in  the 
mouth  of  the  girl,  spurred  him  to  the  limit.  The 
heavy  sledgework  fell  to  his  lot  as  a  matter  of  course. 
A  twenty-pound  sledge  was  a  plaything  in  Toppy's 
hand — for  the  first  fifteen  minutes. 

After  that  the  hammer  seemed  to  increase  pro- 

62 


Toppy  Works  63 

gressively  in  weight,  until  at  the  end  of  the  first  day's 
work  Toppy  would  gladly  have  credited  the  statement 
that  it  weighed  a  ton.  Likewise  the  heavy  runner- 
irons,  which  he  lifted  with  ease  on  the  anvil  in  the 
morning,  seemed  to  grow  heavier  as  the  day  grew 
older.  Had  Toppy  been  in  the  splendid  condition 
that  had  helped  him  to  win  his  place  on  the  All- 
American  eleven  four  years  before,  he  might  have 
gone  through  the  cruel  period  of  breaking-in  without 
faltering.  But  four  years  of  reckless  living  had  taken 
their  .toll.  The  same  magnificent  frame  and  muscles 
were  there;  the  great  heart  and  grit  and  sand  like- 
wise. But  there  was  something  else  there,  too;  the 
softening,  weakening  traces  of  decomposed  alcohol 
in  organs  and  tissues,  and  under  the  strain  of  the 
terrific  pace  which  old  Campbell  set  for  Toppy,  abused 
organs,  fibres  and  nerves  began  to  creak  and  groan, 
and  finally  called  out,  "Halt!" 

It  was  only  Toppy's  grit — the  "great  heart"  that 
had  made  him  a  champion — and  the  desire  to  prove 
his  strength  before  Reivers  that  kept  him  at  work 
after  the  first  day.  His  body  had  quit  cold.  He  had 
never  before  undergone  such  expenditure  of  muscular 
energy,  not  even  in  the  fiercest  game  of  his  career. 
That  was  play ;  this  was  torture.  On  the  second  morn- 
ing his  body  shrank  involuntarily  from  the  spectacle 
of  the  torturing  sledge,  anvil  and  irons,  but  pride  and 
grit  drove  him  on  with  set  jaw  and  hard  eyes.  Quit? 
Well,  hardly.  Reivers  walked  around  the  camp  and 
smiled  as  he  saw  Toppy  sweating,  and  Toppy  swore 
and  went  on. 

On  the  third  day  old  Campbell  looked  at  him  with 
curiosity. 

"Well,  lad,  have  ye  had  enough?"  he  asked,  smil- 
ing pityingly.  "Ye  can  get  a  job  helping  the  cookee 
if  you  find  man's  work  too  hard  for  ye." 


64  The  Snow-Burner 

Toppy,  between  clenched  teeth,  swore  savagely.  He 
was  so  tired  that  he  was  sick.  The  toxins  of  fatigue, 
aided  and  abetted  by  the  effects  of  hard  living,  had 
poisoned  him  until  his  feet  and  brain  felt  as  heavy 
as  lead.  It  hurt  him  to  move  and  it  hurt  him  to 
think.  He  was  groggy,  all  but  knocked  out ;  but  some- 
thing within  him  held  him  doggedly  at  the  tasks  which 
were  surely  mastering  him. 

That  night  he  dragged  himself  to  bed  without  wait- 
ing for  supper.  In  the  morning  Campbell  was  amazed 
to  see  him  tottering  toward  his  accustomed  place  in 
the  shop;  for  old  Campbell  had  set  a  pace  that  had 
racked  his  own  iron,  work-tried  body,  and  he  had 
allowed  Toppy  two  days  in  which  to  cry  enough. 

"Hold  up  a  little,  lad,"  he  grumbled.  "We're  away 
ahead  of  our  job.  There's  no  need  laying  yourself 
up.  Take  you  a  rest." 

"You  go  to  !"  exploded  the  overwrought 

Toppy.  "Take  a  rest  yourself  if  you  need  one;  I 
don't." 

He  was  working  on  his  nerve  now,  flogging  his 
weary  arms  and  body  to  do  his  bidding  against  their 
painful  protests;  and  he  worked  like  a  madman,  fear- 
ing that  if  he  came  to  a  halt  the  run-down  machinery 
would  refuse  to  start  afresh. 

It  was  near  evening  when  a  teamster  drove  up  with 
a  broken  sleigh  from  which  Campbell  and  the  man 
strove  in  vain  to  tear  the  twisted  runner.  Reivers 
from  the  steps  of  the  store  looked  on,  sneering. 
Toppy,  his  lips  drawn  back  with  pain  and  weariness, 
laughed  shrilly  at  the  efforts  of  the  pair. 

"Yank  it  off!"  he  cried  contemptuously.  "Yank  it 
off— like  this." 

He  drove  a  pry-iron  under  the  runner  and  heaved. 
It  refused  to  budge.  Toppy  gathered  himself  under 
the  pry  and  jerked  with  every  ounce  of  energy  in 


Toppy  Works  65 

him.  The  runner  did  not  move.  His  left  ankle  felt 
curiously  weak  under  the  awful  strain.  Across  the 
way  he  heard  Reivers  laugh  shortly.  Furiously  Toppy 
jerked  again;  the  runner  flew  into  the  air.  Toppy 
felt  the  weak  ankle  sag  under  him  in  unaccountable 
fashion,  and  he  fell  heavily  on  his  side  and  lay 
still. 

"Sprained  his  ankle,"  grunted  the  teamster,  as  they 
bore  him  to  his  bunk.  "I  knew  something  had  to  give. 
No  man  ever  was  made  to  stand  up  under  that  lift." 

"But  I  yanked  it  off!"  groaned  Toppy,  half  wild 
with  pain.  "I  didn't  quit — I  yanked  the  darn  thing 
off!" 

"Aye,"  said  old  Campbell,  "you  yanked  it  off,  lad. 
Lay  still  now  till  we  have  off  your  shoe." 

"And  holy  smoke!"  said  the  teamster.  "What  a 
yank !  Hey !  Whoap !  Holy,  red-roaring — he's  gone 
and  fainted!" 

This  latter  statement  was  not  precisely  true.  Toppy 
had  not  fainted;  he  had  suddenly  succumbed  to  the 
demands  of  complete  exhaustion.  The  overdriven, 
tired-out  organs,  wrenched  and  abused  tissues,  and 
fatigue-deadened  nerves  suddenly  had  cried,  "Stop!" 
in  a  fashion  that  not  all  of  Toppy's  will-power  could 
deny.  One  instant  he  lay  flat  on  his  back  on  the 
blankets  of  his  bunk,  wide  awake,  with  Campbell  tug- 
ging at  the  laces  of  his  shoes ;  the  next — a  mighty  sigh 
of  peace  heaved  his  big  chest.  Toppy  had  fallen 
asleep. 

It  was  not  a  natural  sleep,  nor  a  peaceful  one.  The 
racked  muscles  refused  to  be  still;  the  raw  nerve- 
centres  refused  to  soothe  themselves  in  the  peace  of 
complete  senselessness.  His  whole  body  twitched. 
Toppy  tossed  and  groaned.  He  awoke  some  time  in 
the  night  with  his  stomach  crying  for  food. 

"Drink  um,"  said  a  voice  somewhere,  and  a  sturdy 


66  The  Snow-Burner 

arm  went  under  his  head  and  a  bowl  containing  some- 
thing savoury  and  hot  was  held  against  his  lips. 

"Hello,  Tilly,"  chuckled  Toppy  deliriously.  It  was 
quite  in  keeping  with  things  that  Tilly,  the  squaw, 
should  be  holding  his  head  and  feeding  him  in  the 
middle  of  the  night.  He  drank  with  the  avidity  of 
a  man  parched  and  starving,  and  the  hot  broth  pleas- 
antly soothed  him  as  it  ran  down  his  throat. 

"More!"  he  said,  and  Tilly  gave  him  more. 

"Good  fellow,  Tilly,"  he  murmured.  "Good  medi- 
cine. Who  told  you  ?" 

"Snow-Burner,"  grunted  Tilly,  laying  his  head  on 
the  pillow.  "He  send  me.  Sleep  um  now." 

"Sure,"  sighed  Toppy,  and  promptly  fell  back  into 
his  moaning,  feverish  slumber. 


CHAPTER  IX 

A    FRESH    START 

WHEN  he  awoke  again  to  clear  consciousness, 
it  was  morning.  The  sun  which  came  in 
through  the  east  window  shone  in  his  eyes  and  lighted 
up  the  room.  Toppy  lay  still.  He  was  quite  content 
to  lie  so.  An  inexplicable  feeling  of  peace  and  com- 
fort ruled  in  every  inch  of  his  being.  The  bored, 
heavy  feeling  with  which  for  a  long  time  past  he  had 
been  in  the  custom  of  facing  a  new  day  was  absolutely 
gone.  His  tongue  was  cool;  there  was  none  of  the 
old  heavy  blood-pressure  in  his  head ;  his  nerves  were 
absolutely  quiet.  Something  had  happened  to  him. 
Toppy  was  quite  conscious  of  the  change,  though  he 
was  too  comfortable  to  do  more  than  accept  his  peace- 
ful condition  as  a  fact. 

"Ho,  hum!  I  feel  like  a  new  man,"  he  murmured 
drowsily.  "I  wonder — ow!" 

He  had  stretched  himself  leisurely  and  thus  be- 
came conscious  that  his  left  ankle  was  bandaged  and 
sore.  His  cry  brought  old  Campbell  into  the  room 
— Campbell  solemnly  arrayed  in  a  long-tailed  suit 
of  black,  white  collar,  black  tie,  spick  and  span,  with 
beard  and  hair  carefully  washed  and  combed. 

"Hello!"  gasped  Toppy  sleepily.  "Where  you  go- 
ing— funeral  ?" 

'Tis  the  Sabbath,"  said  Campbell  reverently,  as 
he  came  to  the  side  of  the  bunk.  "And  how  do  ye 
feel  the  day,  kd?" 


68  The  Snow-Burner 

"Fine!"  said  Toppy.  "Considering  that  I  had  my 
ankle  sprained  last  evening." 

The  Scot  eyed  him  closely. 

"So  'twas  last  evening  ye  broke  your  ankle,  was 
it?"  he  asked  cannily. 

"Why,  sure,"  said  Toppy.  "Yesterday  was  Sat- 
urday, wasn't  it?  We  were  cleaning  up  the  week's 
work.  Why,  what  are  you  looking  at  me  like  that 
for?" 

"Aye,"  said  Campbell,  his  Sunday  solemnity  forbid- 
ding the  smile  that  strove  to  break  through.  ""Yes- 
terday was  Saturday,  but  'twas  not  the  Saturday  you 
sprained  your  leg.  A  week  ago  Saturday  that  was, 
lad,  and  ye've  lain  here  in  a  fever,  out  of  your  head, 
ever  since.  Do  you  mind  naught  of  the  whole  week?" 

Toppy  looked  up  at  Campbell  in  silence  for  a  long 
time. 

"Scotty,  if  you  have  to  play  jokes " 

"Jokes !"  spluttered  Campbell,  aghast.  "Losh,  mon ! 
Didna  I  tell  ye  'twas  the  Sabbath?  No,  'tis  no  joke, 
I  assure  you.  You  did  more  than  sprain  your  ankle 
when  ye  tripped  that  Saturday.  You  collapsed  com- 
pletely. Lad,  you  were  in  poor  condition  when  you 
came  to  camp,  and  had  I  known  it  I  would  not  have 
broken  you  in  so  hard.  But  you're  a  good  man,  lad ; 
the  best  man  I  ever  saw,  if  you  keep  in  condition. 
And  do  you  really  feel  good  again  ?" 

"Why,  I  feel  like  a  new  man,"  said  Toppy.  "I  feel 
as  if  I'd  had  a  course  of  baths  at  Hot  Springs." 

Campbell  nodded. 

"The  Snow-Burner  said  ye  would.  It's  Tilly  he's 
had  doctoring  ye.  She's  been  feeding  you  some  In- 
dian concoction  and  keeping  ye  heated  till  your  blan- 
kets were  wet  through.  Oh,  you've  had  scandalous 
good  care,  lad ;  Reivers  to  set  your  ankle,  Tilly  to  doc- 
tor ye  Indian-wise,  and  Miss  Pearson  and  Reivers  to 


A  Fresh  Start  69 

drop  in  together  now  and  anon  to  see  how  ye  were 
standing  the  gaff.  No  wonder  ye  came  through  all 
right!" 

The  room  seemed  suddenly  to  grow  dark  for  Toppy. 
Reivers  again — Reivers  dropping  in  to  look  at  him 
as  he  lay  there  helpless  on  his  back.  Reivers  in  the 
position  of  the  master  again;  and  the  girl  with  him! 
Toppy  impatiently  threw  off  his  covering. 

"Gimme  my  clothes,  Scotty,"  he  demanded,  swing- 
ing himself  to  the  edge  of  the  bunk.  "I'm  tired  of 
lying  here  on  my  back." 

Campbell  silently  handed  over  his  clothing.  Toppy 
was  weak,  but  he  succeeded  in  dressing  himself  and  in 
tottering  over  to  a  chair. 

"So  Miss  Pearson  came  over  here,  did  she?"  he 
asked  thoughtfully.  "And  with  Reivers?" 

"Aye,"  said  Scotty  drily.  "With  Reivers.  He  has 
a  way  with  the  women,  the  Snow-Burner  has." 

Toppy  debated  a  moment;  then  he  broke  out  and 
told  Campbell  all  about  how  Reivers  had  deceived 
Miss  Pearson  into  coming  to  Hell  Camp.  The  old 
man  listened  with  tightly  pursed  lips.  As  Toppy  con- 
cluded he  shook  his  head  sorrowfully. 

"Poor  lass,  she's  got  a  hard  path  before  her  then," 
he  said.  "If,  as  you  say,  she  does  not  wish  to  care 
for  Reivers." 

"What  do  you  mean?" 

"Well,"  said  Campbell  slowly,  "ye'll  be  understand- 
ing by  this  time  that  the  Snow-Burner  is  no  ordinar' 
man?" 

"He's  a  fiend — a  savage  with  an  Oxford  education !" 
exploded  Toppy. 

"He  is — the  Snow-Burner,"  said  Campbell  with  fi- 
nality. "You  know  what  he  is  toward  men.  Toward 
women — he's  worse!" 

"Good  Heavens!" 


70  The  Snow-Burner 

"Not  that  he  is  a  woman-chaser.  No;  'tis  not  his 
way.  But — yon  man  has  the  strongest  will  in  him 
I've  ever  seen  in  mortal  man,  and  'tis  the  will  women 
bow  to."  He  pulled  his  whiskers  nervously  and  looked 
away.  "I've  known  him  four  year  now,  and  no 
woman  in  that  time  that  he  has  set  his  will  upon  but 
in  the  end  has — has  followed  him  like  a  slave." 

Toppy's  fists  clenched,  and  he  joyed  to  find  that  in 
spite  of  his  illness  his  muscles  went  hard. 

"Ye've  seen  Tilly,"  continued  Scotty  with  averted 
eyes.  "Ye'll  not  be  so  blind  that  ye've  not  observed 
that  she's  no  ordinar'  squaw.  Well,  three  years  ago 
Tilly  was  teacher  in  the  Chippewa  Indian  School — thin 
and  straight — a  Carlisle  graduate  and  all.  She  met 
Reivers,  and  shunned  him — at  first.  Reivers  did  not 
chase  her.  'Tis  not  his  way.  But  he  bent  his  will 
upon  her,  and  the  poor  girl  left  her  life  behind  her 
and  followed  him,  and  kept  following  him,  until  ye 
see  her  as  she  is  now.  She  would  cut  your  throat  or 
nurse  ye  as  she  did,  no  matter  which,  did  he  but 
command  her.  And  she's  not  been  the  only  one,  either. 

"Nor  have  the  rest  of  them  been  red." 

"The  swine!"  muttered  Toppy. 

"More  wolf  than  swine,  lad.  Perhaps  more  tiger 
than  wolf.  I  don't  think  Reivers  intends  to  break 
his  word  to  yon  lass.  But  I  suspect  that  he  won't 
have  to.  No;  as  it  looks  now,  he  won't.  Given  the 
opportunity  to  put  his  will  upon  her  and  she'll  change 
her  mind — like  the  others." 

"He's  a  beast,  that's  what  he  is!"  said  Toppy  an- 
grily. "And  any  woman  who  would  fall  for  him 
would  get  no  more  than  she  deserves,  even  if  she's 
treated  like  Tilly.  Why,  anybody  can  see  that  the 
man's  instincts  are  all  wrong.  Right  in  an  animal 
perhaps,  but  wrong  in  a  human  being.  The  right 
kind  of  women  would  shun  him  like  poison." 


A  Fresh  Start  71 

"I  dunno,"  said  Campbell,  rubbing  his  chin.  "Yon 
lass  over  in  the  office  is  as  sweet  and  womanly  a 
little  lass  as  I've  seen  sin'  I  was  a  lad.  And  yet — 
look  ye  but  out  of  the  window,  lad!" 

Toppy  looked  out  of  the  window  in  the  direction 
in  which  Campbell  pointed.  The  window  commanded 
a  view  of  the  gate  to  the  stockade.  Reivers  was  stand- 
ing idly  before  the  gate.  Miss  Pearson  was  coming 
toward  him.  As  she  approached  he  carelessly  turned 
his  head  and  looked  her  over  from  head  to  foot.  From 
where  he  sat  Toppy  could  see  her  smile.  Then  Reivers 
calmly  turned  his  back  upon  her,  and  the  smile  on 
the  girl's  face  died  out.  She  stood  irresolute  for  a 
moment,  then  turned  and  went  slowly  back  toward 
the  office,  glancing  occasionally  over  her  shoulder 
toward  the  gate.  Reivers  did  not  look,  but  when  she 
was  out  of  sight  he  began  to  walk  slowly  toward  the 
blacksmith-shop. 

"Bah!"  Toppy  turned  his  eyes  from  the  window 
in  mingled  anger  and  disgust.  He  sat  for  a  moment 
with  a  multitude  of  emotions  working  at  his  heart. 
Then  he  laughed  bitterly. 

"Well,  well,  well !"  he  mocked.  "You'd  expect  that 
from  a  squaw,  but  not  from  a  white  woman." 

"Mr.  Reivers  is  a  remarkable  man,"  said  Campbell, 
shaking  his  head. 

"Sure,"  said  Toppy,  "and  it's  a  mistake  to  look  for 
a  remarkable  woman  up  here  in  the  woods." 

"I  dunno."  The  smith  looked  a  little  hurt.  "I 
dunno  about  that,  lad.  Yon  lass  seems  remarkably 
sweet  and  ladylike  to  me." 

"Sure,"  sneered  Toppy,  pointing  his  thumb  toward 
the  gate.  "That  looked  like  it,  didn't  it?" 

"As  for  that,  you've  heard  what  I've  told  you  about 
the  Snow-Burner  and  women,"  said  Campbell  sorrow- 
fully. "He  has  a  masterful  way  with  them." 


72  The  Snow-Burner 

"A  fine  thing  to  be  masterful  over  a  little  blonde 
fool  like  that!" 

Campbell  scowled. 

"Even  though  you  have  no  respect  for  the  lass," 
he  said  curtly,  "I  see  no  reason  why  you  should  put 
it  in  words." 

"Why  not?  Why  shouldn't  I,  or  any  one  else,  put 
it  in  words  after  that?"  Toppy  fairly  shouted  the 
words.  "She's  made  the  thing  public  herself.  She 
came  creeping  up  to  him  right  out  where  anybody, 
who  was  looking  could  see  her,  and  there  won't  be  a 
man  in  camp  to-morrow  but'll  have  heard  that  she's 
fallen  for  Reivers.  Apparently  she  doesn't  care;  so 
why  should  I,  or  you,  or  anybody  else?  Reivers  has 
got  a  masterful  way  with  women!  Ha,  ha!  Let  it 
go  at  that.  It's  none  of  my  business,  that's  a  cinch." 

"No,"  agreed  Campbell;  "not  if  you  talk  that  way, 
it's  none  of  your  business;  that's  sure." 

Toppy  could  have  struck  him  for  the  emphatic 
manner  in  which  he  uttered  the  words.  But  Toppy 
was  beginning  to  learn  to  control  himself  and  he 
merely  gritted  his  teeth.  The  sudden  stab  which 
he  had  felt  in  his  heart  at  the  sight  of  the  girl  and 
Reivers  had  passed.  In  one  flash  there  had  been  over- 
thrown the  fine  structure  which  he  had  built  about  her 
in  his  thoughts.  He  had  placed  her  high  above  him- 
self. For  some  unknown  reason  he  had  looked  up 
to  her  from  the  first  moment  he  had  seen  her.  He 
had  not  considered  himself  worthy  of  her  good  opin- 
ion. And  here  she  was  flaunting  her  subservience  to 
Reivers — to  a  cold,  sneering  brute — before  the  eyes 
of  the  whole  camp! 

The  rage  and  pain  at  the  sight  of  the  pair  had  come 
and  gone,  and  that  was  all  over.  And  now  Toppy  to 
his  surprise  found  that  it  didn't  make  much  difference. 
The  girl,  and  what  she  was,  what  she  thought  of  him, 


A  Fresh  Start  73 

or  of  Reivers,  no  longer  were  of  prime  importance 
to  him.  He  didn't  care  enough  about  that  now  to 
give  her  room  in  his  thoughts. 

Reivers  was  what  mattered  now — Reivers,  with 
his  air  of  contemptuous  dominance;  Reivers,  who  had 
looked  on  and  laughed  when  Toppy  was  tugging  at 
the  runner  of  the  broken  sleigh.  That  laugh  seemed 
to  ring  in  Toppy's  ears.  It  challenged  him  even  as 
it  contemned  him.  It  said,  "I  am  your  master;  doubt 
it  if  you  dare" ;  even  as  Reivers'  cold  smile  had  said 
the  same  to  Rosky  and  the  huddled  bunch  of  Slavs. 

The  girl — that  was  past.  But  Reivers  had  roused 
something  deeper,  something  older,  something  fiercer 
than  the  feelings  which  had  begun  to  stir  in  Toppy 
at  the  sight  of  the  girl.  Man — raw,  big-thewed,  world- 
old  and  always  new  man — had  challenged  unto  man. 
And  man  had  answered.  The  petty  considerations  of 
life  were  stripped  away.  Only  one  thing  was  of  im- 
portance. The  world  to  Toppy  Treplin  had  become 
merely  a  place  for  Reivers,  the  Snow-Burner,  and 
himself  to  settle  the  question  which  had  cried  for  set- 
tlement since  the  moment  when  they  first  looked  into 
each  other's  eyes :  Which  was  the  better  man  ? 

Toppy  smiled  as  he  stretched  himself  and  noted 
the  new  life  that  seemed  to  have  come  into  his  body. 
He  knew  what  it  meant.  That  strenuous  siege  of 
work  and  a  week  of  fevered  sweating  had  driven  the 
alcohol  out  of  his  system.  He  was  making  a  fresh 
start.  A  few  weeks  at  the  anvil  now,  and  he  would 
be  in  better  shape  than  at  any  time  since  leaving  school. 
He  set  his  jaw  squarely  and  heaved  his  big  arms 
high  above  his  head. 

"Well,  Treplin,"  came  an  unmistakable  voice  from 
the  doorway,  "you're  looking  strenuous  for  a  man 
just  off  the  sickbed." 


CHAPTER  X 

THE  DUEL   BEGINS 

I'M  feeling  pretty  good,  thank  you,  Reivers,"  said 
Toppy  quietly,  though  the  voice  of  the  man  had 
thrilled  him  with  the  challenge  in  it.  He  turned  his 
head  slowly  and  looked  up  from  his  chair  at  Reivers 
with  an  expression  of  great  serenity.  The  Big  Game 
had  begun  between  them,  and  Toppy  was  an  expert 
at  keeping  his  play  hidden. 

"Much  obliged  for  strapping  up  my  ankle,  Reiv- 
ers," he  said.  "Silly  thing,  to  sprain  an  ankle;  but 
thanks  to  your  expert  bandaging  it'll  be  ready  to 
walk  on  soon." 

"It  wasn't  a  bad  sprain,"  said  Reivers,  moving  up 
and  standing  in  front  of  him.  That  was  Reivers  all 
through.  Toppy  was  sitting;  Reivers  was  standing, 
looking  down  on  him,  his  favourite  pose.  The  black 
anger  boiled  in  Toppy's  heart,  but  by  his  expression 
one  could  read  only  that  he  was  a  grateful  young 
man. 

"No,  it  wasn't  a  bad  sprain,"  continued  Reivers, 
his  upper  lip  lifting  in  its  customary  smile  of  scorn, 
"but — a  man  who  attempts  such  heavy  lifts  must 
have  no  weak  spot  in  him." 

Toppy  twisted  himself  into  a  more  comfortable  po- 
sition in  his  chair  and  smiled. 

"  'Attempts'  is  hardly  the  right  word  there,  Reiv- 
ers. Pardon  me  for  differing  with  you,"  he  laughed. 
"You  may  remember  that  the  attempt  was  a  suc- 
cess." 

74 


The  Duel  Begins  75 

A  glint  of  amusement  in  Reivers'  cold  eyes  showed 
that  he  appreciated  that  something  more  weighty  than 
a  mere  question  of  words  lay  beneath  that  apparently 
casual  remark.  For  an  instant  his  eyes  narrowed, 
as  if  trying  to  see  beyond  Toppy's  smile  and  read  what 
lay  behind,  but  Toppy's  good  poker- face  now  stood 
him  in  good  stead,  and  he  looked  blandly  back  at 
Reivers'  peering  eyes  and  continued  to  smile.  Reivers 
laughed. 

"Quite  right,  Treplin ;  obliged  to  you  for  correcting 
me,"  he  said.  "A  chap  gets  rusty  out  here,  where 
none  of  the  laws  of  speech  are  observed.  I'll  depend 
upon  you  to  bring  me  back  to  form  again — later  on. 
Is  your  ankle  really  feeling  strong?" 

For  answer  Toppy  rose  and  stood  on  it. 

"Well,  well!"  laughed  Reivers.  "Then  Miss  Pear- 
son's sympathy  was  all  wasted.  What's  the  matter, 
Treplin  ?  Aren't  you  glad  to  hear  that  charming  young 
lady  is  enough  interested  in  you  to  hunt  me  up  and 
ask  me  to  step  in  and  see  how  you  are  this  morning?" 

"Not  particularly,"  replied  Toppy,  although  he  was 
forced  to  admit  to  himself  a  glow  at  this  explanation 
of  the  girl's  conversation  with  Reivers. 

"What  are  you  interested  in?"  said  Reivers  sud- 
denly. 

Toppy  looked  up  at  him  shrewdly. 

"I  tell  you  what  I'd  like  to  do,  Reivers;  I'd  like 
to  learn  the  logging-business — learn  how  to  run  a 
camp  like  this — run  it  efficiently,  I  mean." 

"Worthy  ambition,"  came  the  instant  reply,  "and 
you've  come  to  the  right  school.  How  fortunate  for 
you  that  you  fell  into  this  camp!  You  might  have 
got  into  one  where  the  boss  had  foolish  ideas.  You 
might  even  have  fallen  in  with  a  humanitarian.  Then 
you'd  never  have  learned  how  to  make  men  do  things 


76  The  Snow-Burner 

for  you,  and  consequently  you'd  never  have  learned 
to  run  a  camp  efficiently. 

"Thank  your  lucky  stars,  Treplin,  that  you  fell  in 
with  me.  I'll  rid  you  of  the  silly  little  ideas  about 
right  and  wrong  that  books  and  false  living  have  in- 
stilled in  your  head.  I  believe  you've  got  a  good 
head — almost  as  good  as  mine.  If,  for  instance,  you 
were  in  a  situation  where  it  was  your  life  or  the  other 
fellow's,  you'd  survive.  That's  the  proof  of  a  good 
head.  Want  to  learn  the  logging-business,  do  you? 
Good!  Is  your  ankle  strong  enough  for  you  to  get 
around  on?" 

Toppy  took  an  ax-handle  from  the  corner  and,  us- 
ing it  as  a  cane,  hobbled  around  the  room. 

"Yes,  it  will  stand  up  all  right,"  he  said.  "What's 
the  idea?" 

"Come  with  me,"  laughed  Reivers,  swinging  to- 
ward the  door.  "We're  just  in  time  for  lesson  number 
one  on  how  to  run  a  camp  efficiently." 


CHAPTER  XI 
"HELL-CAMP"  COURT 

AS  Reivers  led  the  way  out  of  the  shop  Toppy  saw 
that  Miss  Pearson  was  standing  in  the  door  of 
the  office  across  the  way.  He  saw  also  that  she  was 
looking  at  him.  He  did  not  respond  to  her  look  nor 
volunteer  a  greeting,  but  deliberately  looked  away 
from  her  as  he  kept  pace  with  Reivers,  who  was  set- 
ting the  way  toward  the  gate  of  the  stockade. 

It  was  a  morning  such  as  the  one  when,  back  in 
Rail  Head,  the  girl  had  kicked  up  the  snow  and  said 
to  him,  "Isn't  it  glorious?"  But  since  then  Toppy 
felt  bitterly  that  he  had  grown  so  much  older,  so 
disillusioned,  that  never  again  would  he  be  guilty 
of  the  tender  feelings  that  the  girl  had  evoked  that 
morning.  The  sun  was  bright,  the  crisp  air  invigo- 
rating, and  the  blood  bounded  gloriously  through  his 
young  body.  But  Toppy  did  not  wax  enthusiastic. 

He  was  grimly  glad  of  the  mighty  stream  of  life 
that  he  felt  surging  within  him;  he  would  have  use 
for  all  the  might  later  on.  But  no  more.  The  world 
was  a  harder,  a  less  pretty  place  than  he,  in  his  in- 
experience, had  fancied  it  before  coming  to  Hell 
Camp. 

"What's  this  lesson?"  he  asked  gruffly  of  Reivers. 
"What  are  you  going  to  show  me?" 

"A  little  secret  in  the  art  of  keeping  brute-men  sat- 
isfied with  the  place  in  life  which  a  superior  mind 
has  allotted  to  them,"  replied  Reivers.  "What  is  the 

77 


78  The  Snow-Burner 

first  need  of  the  brute?  Food,  of  course.  And  the 
second  is — fight.  Give  the  lower  orders  of  mankind, 
which  is  the  kind  to  use  in  running  a  camp  efficiently, 
plenty  of  food  and  fight,  and  the  problem  of  rest- 
lessness is  solved. 

"That's  history,  Treplin,  as  you  know.  If  these 
foolish,  timid  capitalists  and  leaders  of  men  who  are 
searching  their  petty  souls  for  a  remedy  to  combat 
the  ravages  of  the  modern  disease  called  Socialism 
only  would  read  history  intelligently,  they  would  find 
the  remedy  made  to  order.  Fight!  War!  Give  the 
lower  brutes  war;  let  'em  get  out  and  slaughter  one 
another,  and  they'd  soon  forget  their  pitiful,  clumsy 
attempts  to  think  for  themselves.  Give  them  guns 
with  a  little  sharp  steel  on  the  end  of  the  barrel,  turn 
them  loose  on  each  other — any  excuse  would  do — and 
they'd  soon  be  so  busy  driving  said  steel  into  one 
another's  thick  bodies  that  the  leaders  could  slip  the 
yoke  back  on  their  necks  arid  get  'em  under  hand 
again,  where  they  belong. 

"And  they'd  be  happier,  too,  because  a  man-brute 
has  got  to  have  so  much  fighting,  or  what  he  calls 
his  brain  begins  to  trouble  him ;  and  then  he  imagines 
he  has  a  soul  and  is  otherwise  unhappy.  If  there  is 
fighting,  or  the  certain  prospect  of  fighting,  there's 
no  alleged  thinking.  There's  the  solution  of  all  diffi- 
culties with  the  lower  orders.  Of  course  you've  no- 
ticed how  perfectly  contented  and  happy  the  men  in 
this  camp  are?"  he  laughed,  turning  suddenly  on 
Toppy. 

"Yes,"  said  Toppy.  "Especially  Rosky  and  his 
bunch." 

The  Snow-Burner  smiled  appreciatively. 

"Rosky,  poor  clod,  hadn't  had  any  fighting.  I'd 
overlooked  him.  Had  I  known  that  thoughts  had  be- 
gun to  trouble  his  poor,  half-ox  brain,  I'd  have  given 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  79 

him  some  fighting,  and  he'd  have  been  as  content  for 
the  next  few  weeks  as  a  man  who — who's  just  been 
through  delirium  tremens. 

"He  had  no  object  in  life,  you  see.  If  he'd  had 
a  good  enemy  to  hate  and  fight,  he  wouldn't  have  been 
troubled  by  thoughts,  and  consequently  he  wouldn't 
now  be  lying  in  his  bunk  with  his  leg  in  splints. 

"There  is  the  system  in  a  nutshell — give  a  man  an 
enemy  to  hate  and  wish  to  destroy,  and  he  won't  be 
any  trouble  to  you  during  working-hours  or  after. 
That's  what  I  do — pick  out  the  ones  who  might  get 
restless  and  set  them  to  hating  each  other.  And  now," 
he  concluded,  as  they  reached  the  gate  and  passed 
through,  "you'll  have  a  chance  to  see  how  it  works 
out." ' 

The  big  gate,  opened  for  them  by  two  armed  guards, 
swung  shut  behind  them,  and  Toppy  once  more  looked 
around  the  enclosure  in  which  he  had  had  his  first 
glimpse  of  the  Snow-Burner's  system  of  handling  the 
men  under  him.  The  place  this  morning,  however, 
presented  a  different,  a  more  impressive  scene.  It 
was  all  but  filled  with  a  mass  of  rough-clad,  rough- 
moving,  rough-talking  male  humanity. 

Perhaps  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  were  waiting 
in  the  enclosure.  For  the  greater  part  they  were 
of  the  dark,  thick  and  heavily  clumsy  type  that  Toppy 
had  learned  to  include  under  the  general  title  of 
Bohunk;  but  here  and  there  over  the  dark,  ox-like 
faces  rose  the  fair  head  of  a  tall  man  of  some  North- 
ern breed.  Slavs  comprised  the  bulk  of  the  gather- 
ing; the  Scandinavians,  Irish,  Americans — the  "white 
men,"  as  they  called  themselves — were  conspicuous 
only  by  contrast  and  by  the  manner  in  which  they 
isolated  themselves  from  the  Slavs. 

And  between  the  two  breeds  there  was  not  much 
room  for  choice.  For  while  the  faces  of  the  Slavs 


8o  The  Snow-Burner 

were  heavy  with  brute  stupidity  and  malignity,  those 
of  the  North-bred  men  reeked  with  fierceness,  cruelty 
and  crime.  The  Slavs  were  at  Hell  Camp  because  they 
were  tricked  into  coming  and  forced  to  remain  under 
shotgun  rule;  the  others  were  there  mostly  because 
sheriffs  found  it  unsafe  and  unprofitable  to  seek  any 
man  whom  the  Snow-Burner  had  in  his  camp.  They 
were  "hiding  out."  Criminals,  the  majority  of  them, 
they  preyed  on  the  stupid  Slavs  as  a  matter  of  course ; 
and  this  situation  Reivers  had  utilised,  as  he  put  it, 
"to  keep  his  men  content." 

Though  there  was  a  gulf  of  difference  between  the 
extreme  types  of  the  crowd,  Toppy  soon  realised  that 
just  now  their  expressions  were  strangely  alike.  They 
were  all  impatient  and  excited.  The  excitement 
seemed  to  run  in  waves;  one  man  moved  and  others 
moved  with  him.  One  threw  up  his  head  and  others 
did  likewise.  Their  faces  were  expectant  and  cruel. 
It  was  like  the  milling  of  excited  cattle,  only  worse. 

"Come  along,  Treplin,"  said  Reivers,  and  led  the 
way  toward  the  centre  of  the  enclosure.  The  noises 
of  the  crowd,  the  talking,  the  short  laughter,  the 
shuffling,  ceased  instantly  at  his  appearance.  The 
crowd  parted  before  him  as  before  some  natural  force 
that  brushed  all  men  aside.  It  opened  up  even  to 
the  centre  of  the  yard,  and  then  Toppy  saw  whither 
Reivers  was  leading. 

On  the  bare  ground  was  roped  off  a  square  which 
Toppy,  with  practised  eye,  saw  was  the  regulation 
twenty- four- foot  prize-fight  ring.  Rough,  unbarked 
tamarack  poles  formed  the  corner-posts  of  the  ring, 
and  the  ropes  were  heavy  wire  logging-cable.  A  yard 
from  one  side  of  the  ring  stood  a  table  with  a  chair 
upon  it.  Reivers,  with  a  careless,  "Take  a  seat  on 
the  table  and  keep  your  eyes  open,"  stepped  easily 
upon  the  table,  seated  himself  in  the  chair  and  looked 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  81 

amused  as  the  men  instinctively  turned  their  faees  up 
toward  him. 

"Well,  men,"  he  said  in  a  voice  which  reached  like 
cold  steel  into  the  far  corners  of  the  enclosure,  "court 
is  open.  The  first  case  is  Jan  Torta  and  his  brother 
Mikel  against  Bill  Sheedy,  whom  they  accuse  of  steal- 
ing ninety-eight  dollars  from  them  while  they  slept." 

As  he  spoke  the  names  two  young  Slavs,  clumsy 
but  strongly  built,  their  heavy  faces  for  once  alight 
with  hate  and  desire  for  revenge,  pushed  close  to  one 
side  of  the  ring,  while  on  the  other  side  a  huge  red- 
haired  Celt,  bloated  and  evil  of  face,  stepped  free  of 
the  crowd. 

"Bill  stole  the  money,  all  right,"  continued  Reivers, 
without  looking  at  any  of  them.  "He  had  the  chance, 
and  being  a  sneak  thief  by  nature  he  took  it.  That's 
all  right.  The  Torta  boys  had  the  money;  now  Bill's 
got  it.  The  question  is :  Is  Bill  man  enough  to  keep 
it?  That's  what  we're  going  to  settle  now.  He's  got 
to  show  that  he's  a  better  man  than  the  two  fellows 
he  took  the  money  from.  If  he  isn't,  he's  got  to  give 
up  the  money,  or  the  two  can  have  him  to  do  what 
they  want  to  with  him.  All  right,  boys;  get  'em 
started  there." 

At  his  brisk  order  four  men  whom  Toppy  had  seen 
around  camp  as  guards  stepped  forward,  two  to 
Sheedy,  two  to  the  Torta  brothers,  and  proceeded  first 
to  search  them  for  weapons,  next  to  strip  them  to  the 
waist.  Sheedy  hung  back. 

"Not  two  av  um  tuh  wanst,  Mr.  Reivers  ?"  he  asked 
humbly.  "One  after  deh  udder  it  oughta  be;  two 
tuh  wanst,  that  ain't  no  way." 

"And  why  not,  Bill?"  asked  Reivers  gently.  "You 
took  it  from  both  of  them,  didn't  you?  Then  keep  it 
against  both  of  'em,  Bill.  Throw  'em  in  there,  boys!" 

Toppy  looked  around  at  the  rows  of  eager  faces 


82  The  Snow-Burner 

that  were  pressing  toward  the  ringside.  Prize-fights 
he  had  witnessed  by  the  score.  He  had  even  par- 
ticipated in  one  or  two  for  a  lark,  and  the  brute  lust 
that  springs  into  the  eyes  of  spectators  was  no  stranger 
to  him.  But  never  had  he  seen  anything  like  this. 
There  was  none  of  the  restraint  imposed  upon  the 
human  countenance  by  civilisation  in  the  fierce  faces 
that  gathered  about  this  ring. 

Out  of  the  dull  eyes  the  primitive  killing-animal 
showed  unrestrained,  unashamed.  No  dilettante  in- 
terest in  strength  or  skill  here ;  merely  the  bare  blood- 
thirsty desire  to  see  a  fellow-animal  fight  and  bleed. 
Up  above,  the  sky  was  clean  and  blue;  the  rough 
log  walls  shut  out  the  rest  of  the  world ;  the  breathing 
of  a  mob  of  excited  men  was  the  only  sound  upon 
the  quiet  Sunday  air.  It  was  the  old  arena  again; 
the  merciless,  gore-hungry  crowd;  the  maddened 
gladiators;  and  upon  the  chair  on  the  table,  Reivers, 
lord  of  it  all,  the  king-man,  to  whom  it  was  all  but 
an  idle  moment's  play. 

Reivers,  above  it  all,  untouched  by  it  all,  and  yet 
directing  and  swaying  it  all  as  his  will  listed.  Laws, 
rules,  teachings,  creeds — all  were  discarded.  Primi- 
tive force  had  for  the  nonce  been  given  back  its  rule. 
And  over  it,  and  controlling  it,  as  well  as  each  of  the 
maddened  eight-score  men  around  the  ring — Reivers. 

And  so  thoroughly  did  Reivers  dominate  the  whole 
affair  that  Toppy,  sitting  carelessly  on  the  edge  of 
the  table,  was  conscious  of  it,  and  knew  that  he,  too, 
felt  instinctively  inclined  to  do  as  the  men  did — to 
look  to  Reivers  for  a  sign  before  daring  to  speak  or 
make  a  move.  The  Snow-Burner  was  in  the  saddle. 
It  wasn't  natural,  but  every  phase  of  the  situation 
emanated  from  his  master-man's  will.  It  was  even 
his  wish  that  Toppy  should  sit  thus  at  his  feet  and 
look  on,  and  his  wish  was  gratified. 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  83 

But  it  was  well  that  the  visor  of  Toppy's  cap  hid 
his  eyes,  else  Reivers  might  have  wondered  at  the 
look  that  flashed  up  at  him  from  them. 

"Throw  'em  in !"  snapped  Reivers,  and  the  handlers 
thrust  the  three  combatants,  stripped  to  the  waists 
but  wearing  calked  lumberjack  shoes,  through  the 
ropes. 

A  cry  went  up  to  the  sky  from  a  hundred  and  fifty 
throats  around  the  ringside — a  cry  that  had  close  kin- 
ship with  the  joyous,  merciless  "Aib-rr-ruh"  of  a  wolf 
about  to  make  its  kill.  Then  an  instant's  silence  as 
the  rudely  handled  fighters  came  to  their  feet  and 
faced  for  action.  Then  another  hideous  yelp  rent 
the  still  air;  the  fighters  had  come  together! 

"Queer  ring-costumes,  eh,  Treplin?"  came  Reivers' 
voice  mockingly.  "Our  own  rules;  the  feet  as  well 
as  the  hands.  Lord,  what  oxen!" 

The  two  Slavs  had  sprung  upon  their  despoiler  like 
two  maddened  cattle.  Sheedy,  rushing  to  meet  them, 
head  down,  swung  right  and  left  overhand;  and  with 
a  mighty  smacking  of  hard  fist  on  naked  flesh,  one 
Torta  rolled  on  the  ground  while  his  brother  stopped 
in  his  tracks,  his  arms  pressed  to  his  middle.  The 
crowd  bellowed. 

"Yes,  I  knew  Sheedy  had  been  a  pug,"  said  Reiv- 
ers judicially. 

Sheedy  deliberately  took  aim  and  swung  for  the  jaw 
of  the  man  who  had  not  gone  down.  The  Slav  in- 
stinctively ducked  his  head,  and  the  blow,  slashing 
along  his  jawbone,  tore  loose  his  ear.  Half  stunned, 
he  dropped  to  his  knees,  and  Sheedy  stepped  back 
to  poise  for  a  killing  kick.  But  now  the  man  who 
had  been  knocked  down  first  was  on  his  feet,  and 
with  the  scream  of  a  wounded  animal  he  hurled  him- 
self through  the  air  and  went  down,  his  arms  close- 
locked  around  Sheedy's  right  leg.  Sheedy  staggered. 


84 


The  Snow-Burner 


The  ring  became  a  little  hell  of  distorted  human  speech. 
Sheedy  bellowed  horrible  curses  as  he  beat  to  a  pulp 
the  face  that  sought  to  bury  itself  in  his  thigh;  his 
assailant  screeched  in  Slavish  terror;  and  the  bull-like 
roar  of  his  brother,  rising  to  his  feet  with  cleared 
senses  and  springing  into  the  battle,  intermingled  with 
both.  Sheedy's  red  face  went  pale. 

Around  the  ringside  the  faces  of  the  Slavs  shone 
with  relief.  The  fight  was  going  their  way;  they 
roared  encouragement  and  glee  in  their  own  guttural 
tongue.  The  others — Irish,  Americans,  Scandinavians 
— rooting  for  Sheedy  only  because  he  was  of  their 
breed,  were  silent. 

"Hang  tough,  Bill,"  said  one  man  quietly;  and  then 
in  a  second  the  slightly  superior  brains  in  Sheedy's 
head  had  turned  the  battle.  Like  a  flash  he  dropped 
flat  on  his  back  as  his  fresh  assailant  reached  out  to 
grip  him.  The  furious  Slav  followed  him  helplessly 
in  the  fall ;  and  a  single  gruff,  appreciative  shout  came 
from  the  few  "white  men." 

For  they  had  seen,  even  as  the  Slav  stumbled,  Bill 
Sheedy's  left  leg  shoot  up  like  a  catapult,  burying 
the  calked  shoe  to  the  ankle  in  the  man's  soft  middle 
and  flinging  him  to  one  side,  a  shuddering,  senseless 
wreck.  The  man  with  his  arms  around  Sheedy's  leg 
looked  up  and  saw.  He  was  alone  now,  alone  against 
the  big  man  who  had  knocked  him  down  with  such 
ease.  Toppy  saw  the  man's  mouth  open  and  his  face 
go  yellow. 

"Na,  na,  na !"  he  cried  piteously,  as  Sheedy's  blows 
again  rained  upon  him.  "I  give  up,  give  up,  give 
up!" 

He  tried  to  bury  his  face  in  Bill's  thigh;  and  Bill, 
mad  with  success,  strove  to  pound  him  loose. 

"Kill  him,  Bill!"  said  one  of  the  Irishmen  quietly. 
"You  got  him  now ;  kill  him." 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  85 

"Stop."  Reivers  did  not  raise  his  voice.  He 
seemed  scarcely  interested.  Yet  the  roars  around  the 
ring  died  down.  Sheedy  stopped  a  blow  half  deliv- 
ered and  dropped  his  arms.  The  Slav  released  his 
clawlike  hold  and  ran,  sobbing,  toward  his  prostrate 
brother. 

"All  right,  Bill;  you  keep  the  money — for  all 
them,"  said  Reivers.  "Clear  out  the  ring,  boys,  and 
get  that  other  pair  in  there." 

The  guards,  springing  into  the  ring  as  if  under  a 
lash,  picked  up  the  senseless  man  and  thrust  him  like 
a  sack  of  grain  through  the  ropes  and  on  to  the  ground 
at  the  feet  of  a  group  of  his  countrymen.  Toppy 
saw  these  pick  the  man  up  and  bear  him  away.  The 
man's  head  hung  down  limply  and  dragged  on  the 
ground,  and  a  thin  stream  of  blood  ran  steadily  out 
of  one  side  of  his  mouth.  His  brother  followed,  loudly 
calling  him  by  name. 

"Very  efficacious,  that  left  leg  of  Bill's;  eh,  Trep- 
lin?"  said  Reivers  lightly.  "Bill  was  the  superior 
creature  there.  He  had  the  wit  and  will  to  survive 
in  a  crisis;  therefore  he  is  entitled  to  the  rewards 
of  the  superior  over  the  inferior,  which  in  this  case 
means  the  ninety-eight  dollars  which  the  Torta  boys 
once  had.  That's  justice — natural  justice  for  you, 
Treplin ;  and  all  the  fumbling  efforts  of  the  lawmakers 
who've  tried  through  the  ages  to  reduce  life  to  a 
pen-and-paper  basis  haven't  been  able  to  change  the 
old  rule  one  bit. 

"I'll  admit  that  courts  and  all  the  fakery  that  goes 
with  them  have  reduced  the  thing  to  a  battle  of  brains, 
but  after  all  it's  the  same  old  battle;  the  stronger 
win  and  hold.  And,"  he  concluded,  waving  his  hand 
at  the  crowd,  "you'll  admit  that  Bill,  and  those  Torta 
boys  wouldn't  be  at  their  best  in  a  contest  of  intelli- 
gence." 


86  The  Snow-Burner 

Toppy  refused  Reivers  the  pleasure  of  seeing  how 
the  brutality  of  the  affair  disgusted  him. 

"Why  don't  you  follow  the  thing  out  to  its  logical 
conclusion?"  he  said  carelessly.  "The  thing  isn't  set- 
tled as  long  as  the  Torta  boys  can  possibly  make  re- 
prisals. To  be  a  consistent  savage  you'd  have  to  let 
'em  go  to  it  until  one  had  killed  the  other.  But  even 
you  don't  dare  to  do  that,  do  you,  Reivers?" 

Reivers  laughed,  but  the  look  that  he  bent  on  Top- 
py's  bland  face  indicated  that  he  was  a  trifle  puzzled. 

"Then  you  wouldn't  be  running  the  camp  efficiently, 
Treplin,"  he  said.  "It  wouldn't  make  any  difference 
if  they  were  all  Tortas;  but  Bill's  a  valuable  man. 
He  furnishes  some  one  a  bellyful  of  hating  and  fight- 
ing every  week.  No;  I  wouldn't  have  Bill  killed  for 
less  than  two  hundred  dollars.  He's  one  of  my  best 
antidotes  for  the  disease  of  discontent." 

The  guards  now  had  pulled  two  other  men  up  to 
the  ropes  and  were  searching  and  stripping  them. 
Toppy  stared  at  the  disparity  in  the  sizes  of  the  men 
as  the  clothes  were  pulled  off  them.  One  stood  up 
strong  and  straight,  the  muscles  bulging  big  beneath 
his  dark  skin,  his  neck  short  and  heavy,  his  head 
cropped  and  round.  He  wore  a  small,  upturned  mous- 
tache and  carried  himself  with  a  certain  handy  air 
that  indicated  his  close  acquaintance  with  ring-events. 
The  other  man  was  short  and  dark,  obviously  an  Ital- 
ian; the  skin  of  his  body  was  a  sickly  white,  his  face 
olive  green.  He  stood  crouched,  and  beneath  his 
ragged  beard  two  teeth  gleamed,  like  the  fangs  of  a 
snarling  dog. 

"Antonio,  the  Knife-Expert,  and  Mahmout,  the 
Strangling  Bulgarian,"  announced  Reivers  laughingly. 
"Tony  tried  to  stick  Mahmout  because  of  a  little  lady 
back  in  Rail  Head,  and  made  such  a  poor  job  of 
it  that  Mahmout  has  offered  to  meet  him  in  the  ring; 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  87 

Tony  with  his  knife,  Mahmout  with  his  wrestling- 
tricks.  Start  'em  off." 

The  Bulgarian  was  under  the  ropes  and  upright  in 
the  ring  before  the  Italian  had  started.  He  was  in 
his  stocking-feet,  ,and  despite  the  clumsiness  of  his 
build  he  moved  with  a  quickness  and  ease  that  told 
of  the  fine  co-ordination  of  the  effective  athlete. 
When  the  Italian  entered  the  ring  he  held  his  right 
hand  behind  his  back,  and  in  the  hand  gleamed  the 
six-inch  blade  of  a  wicked-looking  stiletto. 

A  shiver  ran  along  Toppy's  spine,  but  he  continued 
to  play  the  game. 

"Evidently  Mahmout  isn't  a  valuable  man;  you 
don't  care  what  happens  to  him,"  he  said. 

"Not  particularly,"  replied  Reivers  seriously.  "He's 
a  good  man  on  the  rollways — nothing  extra.  Still,  I 
hardly  believe  Tony  can  kill  him — not  this  time,  at 
least." 

The  faces  around  the  ring  grew  fiercer  now. 
Growled  curses  and  exclamations  came  through 
clenched  teeth.  Here  was  the  spectacle  that  the  brute- 
spirit  hungered  for — the  bare,  living  flesh  battling  for 
life  against  the  merciless,  gleaming  steel. 

The  big  Bulgarian  moved  neatly  forward,  bent  over 
at  the  waist,  his  strong  arms  extended,  hands  open 
before  him  in  the  practised  wrestler's  guard  and  at- 
tack. His  feet  did  not  leave  the  ground  as  he  sidled 
forward,  and  his  eyes  never  moved  from  the  Italian's 
right  arm.  The  latter,  snarling  and  panting,  retreated 
slightly,  then  began  to  circle  carefully,  his  small  eyes 
searching  for  the  opening  through  which  he  could  leap 
in  and  drive  home  his  steel. 

The  Bulgarian  turned  with  him,  his  guard  always 
before  him,  as  a  bull  turns  its  head  to  face  the  circling 
wolf.  Without  a  sound  the  knife-man  suddenly 
stopped  and  lunged  a  sweeping  slash  at  the  menacing 


88  The  Snow-Burner 

hands.  Mahmout,  grasping  for  a  hold  on  hand  or 
wrist,  caught  the  tip  of  the  blade  in  his  palm,  and  a 
slow  bellow  of  rage  shook  him  as  he  saw  the  blood 
flow.  But  he  did  not  lower  his  guard  nor  take  his 
eyes  from  his  opponent. 

The  Italian  retreated  and  circled  again.  A  horri- 
ble sneer  distorted  his  face,  and  the  knife  flashed  in 
the  sunlight  as  he  slashed  it  to  and  fro  before  the 
other's  hands.  The  crowd  growled  its  appreciation. 
Three  times  Antonio  leaped  forward,  slashed,  and 
leaped  back  again;  and  each  time  the  blood  flowed 
from  Mahmout's  slashed  fingers.  But  the  wrestler's 
guard  never  lowered  nor  did  he  falter  in  his  set  plan 
of  battle.  He  was  working  to  get  his  man  into  a 
corner. 

The  Italian  soon  saw  this  and,  leaping  nimbly  side- 
wise,  lunged  for  Mahmout's  ribs.  The  right  arm  of 
the  Bulgarian  dropped  in  time  to  save  his  life,  but 
the  knife,  deflected  from  its  fatal  aim,  ripped  through 
the  top  muscles  of  his  back  for  six  inches.  The  mob 
roared  at  the  fresh  blood,  but  Mahmout  was  work- 
ing silently.  In  his  spring  the  Italian  had  only  leaped 
toward  another  corner  of  the  ring. 

Mahmout  leaped  suddenly  toward  him.  Antonio, 
stabbing  swiftly  at  the  hands  reached  out  for  him, 
jumped  back.  A  cry  from  a  countryman  in  the  crowd 
warned  him.  Swiftly  he  glanced  over  his  shoulder, 
saw  that  he  was  cornered,  and  with  a  low,  sweeping 
swing  of  the  arm  he  threw  the  knife  low  at  Mahmout's 
abdomen. 

The  blade  glinted  as  it  flashed  through  the  air; 
it  thudded  as  it  struck  home ;  but.  the  death-cry  which 
the  mob  yelped  out  died  short.  With  the  expert's 
quickness  Mahmout  had  flung  his  huge  forearms  be- 
fore the  speeding  blade.  Now  he  held  his  left  arm 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  89 

up.  The  stiletto,  quivering  from  the  impact,  had 
pierced  it  through. 

With  a  fierce  roar  Mahmout  plucked  out  the  knife, 
hurled  it  from  the  ring  and  dived  forward.  The 
Italian  fought  like  a  fury,  feet,  teeth  and  fingernails 
making  equal  play.  He  sank  his  teeth  in  the  injured 
left  arm.  Mahmout  groped  with  his  one  sound  hand 
and  methodically  clamped  a  hold  on  an  ankle.  He 
made  sure  that  the  hold  was  a  firm  one;  then  he 
wrenched  suddenly — once.  The  Italian  screamed  and 
stiffened  straight  up  under  the  appalling  pain.  Then 
he  fell  flat  to  the  ground,  and  Toppy  saw  that  his 
right  foot  was  twisted  squarely  around  and  that  the 
leg  lay  limp  on  the  ground  like  a  twisted  rag. 

"Stop,"  said  Reivers,  and  Mahmout  stepped  back. 
"Take  Tony's  knife  away  from  him,  boys.  Mahmout 
wins — for  the  time  being." 

"Inconsistent  again,"  muttered  Toppy.  "Your 
scheme  is  all  fallacies,  Reivers.  You  give  Tony  a 
knife  with  which  he  may  kill  Mahmout  at  one  stroke, 
but  you  don't  let  Mahmout  finish  him  when  he's  got 
him  down.  Why  don't  you  carry  your  system  to  its 
logical  conclusion?" 

"Why  don't  I?"  chuckled  Reivers,  stepping  down 
from  the  table.  "Why,  simply  because  Signer  An- 
tonio is  the  camp  cook,  and  cooks  are  too  scarce  to 
be  destroyed  unnecessarily.  Now  come  along,  Trep- 
lin.  Court's  adjourned;  a  light  docket  to-day.  I've 
been  thinking  of  your  wanting  to  learn  how  to  run 
a  logging-camp.  I'm  going  to  give  you  a  change  of 
jobs.  You'll  be  no  good  in  the  blacksmith-shop  till 
your  ankle's  normal  again.  Come  along ;  I'll  show  you 
what  I've  picked  out  for  you." 

He  turned  away  from  the  ring  as  from  a  finished 
episode  in  the  day's  work.  That  was  over.  Whether 
Torta  or  Antonio  lived  or  died,  were  whole  or  crip- 


90  The  Snow-Burner 

pled  for  the  rest  of  their  lives,  had  no  room  in  his 
thoughts.  He  strode  toward  the  gate  as  if  the  yard 
were  empty,  and  the  crowd  opened  a  way  far  be- 
fore him.  Outside  the  gate  he  led  the  way  around 
the  stockade  toward  where  the  river  roared  and  tum- 
bled through  the  chutes  of  Cameron  Dam. 

A  cliff-like  ledge,  perhaps  thirty  feet  in  height, 
situated  close  to  one  end  of  the  dam,  was  Reivers' 
objective,  and  he  led  Toppy  around  to  the  side  fac- 
ing the  river.  Here  the  dirt  had  been  scraped  away 
on  the  face  of  the  ledge,  and  a  great  cave  torn  in 
the  exposed  rock.  The  hole  was  probably  fifty  feet 
wide,  and  ran  from  twelve  to  fifteen  feet  under  the 
brow  of  the  ledge.  Toppy  was  surprised  to  see  no 
timbers  upholding  the  rocky  roof,  which  seemed  at 
any  moment  likely  to  drop  great  masses  of  jagged 
stone  into  the  opening  beneath. 

"My  little  rock-pile,"  explained  Reivers  lightly. 
"When  my  brutes  aren't  good  I  put  'em  to  work  here. 
The  rock  goes  into  the  dam  out  there.  Just  at  pres- 
ent Rosky's  band  of  would-be  malcontents  are  the 
ones  who  are  suffering  for  daring  to  be  dissatisfied 
with  the — ah — simplicity,  let  us  say,  of  Hell  Camp." 

He  laughed  mirthlessly. 

"I'm  going  to  put  you  in  charge  of  this  quarry, 
Treplin.  You're  to  see  that  they  get  one  hundred 
wheelbarrows  of  rock  out  of  here  per  hour.  You'll 
be  here  at  daylight  to-morrow." 

Toppy  nodded  quietly. 

"What's  the  punishment  here?"  he  asked,  puzzled. 
"It  looks  like  nothing  more  than  hard  work  to  me." 

Reivers  smiled  the  same  smile  that  he  had  smiled 
upon  Rosky. 

"Look  at  the  roof  of  that  pit,  Treplin,"  he  said. 
"You've  noticed  that  it  isn't  timbered  up.  Occasion- 
ally a  stone  drops  down.  Sometimes  several  stones. 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  91 

But  one  hundred  barrows  an  hour  have  to  come  out 
of  there  just  the  same.  And  those  rocks  up  there, 
you'll  notice,  are  beautifully  sharp  and  heavy." 

Toppy  felt  Reivers'  eyes  upon  him,  watching  to  see 
what  effect  this  explanation  would  have,  and  conse- 
quently he  no  more  betrayed  his  feelings  than  he  had 
at  the  brutal  scenes  of  the  "court." 

"I  see,"  he  said  casually.  "I  suppose  this  is  why 
you  made  me  read  up  on  fractures?" 

"Partly,"  said  Reivers.  He  looked  up  at  the  jagged 
rocks  in  the  roof  of  the  pit  and  grinned.  "And  some- 
times an  accident  here  calls  for  a  job  for  a  pick  and 
shovel.  But  I'm  just,  Treplin;  only  the  malcontents 
are  put  to  work  in  here." 

"That  is,  those  who  have  dared  to  declare  them- 
selves something  besides  your  helpless  slaves." 

"Or  dared  to  think  of  declaring  themselves  thus," 
agreed  Reivers  promptly. 

"I  see."  Toppy  was  looking  blandly  at  the  roof, 
but  his  mind  was  working  busily. 

"Just  why  do  you  give  me  charge  of  this  hole, 
Reivers — if  you  don't  mind  my  asking?  Isn't  it  rather 
an  unusual  honour  for  a  green  hand  to  be  put  over  a 
crew  like  this?" 

"Unusual!  Oh,  how  beastly  banal  of  you,  Trep- 
lin!" laughed  Reivers  carelessly.  "Surely  you  didn't 
expect  me  to  do  the  usual  thing,  did  you?  You  say 
you  want  to  learn  how  to  handle  a  camp  like  this. 
You're  an  interesting  sort  of  creature,  and  I'd  like  to 
see  you  work  out  in  the  game  of  handling  men,  so  I 
give  you  this  chance.  Oh,  I'll  do  great  things  for  you, 
Treplin,  before  I'm  done  with  you!  You  can  imag- 
ine all  that  I've  got  in  store  for  you." 

The  smile  vanished  and  he  turned  away.  He  was 
through  with  this  incident,  too.  Without  another 
word  or  look  at  Toppy  he  went  back  to  the  stockade, 


92  The  Snow-Burner 

his  mind  already  busy  with  some  other  project. 
Toppy  stood  looking  after  him  until  Reivers'  broad 
back  disappeared  around  the  corner  of  the  stockade. 

"No,  you  clever  devil !"  he  muttered.  "I  can't  imag- 
ine. But  whatever  it  is,  I  promise  I'll  hand  it  back 
to  you  with  a  little  interest,  or  furnish  a  job  for  a 
pick  and  shovel." 

He  walked  slowly  back  to  the  blacksmith-shop.  He 
was  glad  to  be  left  alone.  Though  he  had  permit- 
ted no  sign  of  it  to  escape  him,  Toppy  had  been  en- 
raged and  sickened  at  what  he  had  seen  in  the  stock- 
ade. He  admitted  to  himself  that  it  was  not  the 
fact  that  men  had  been  disabled  and  crippled,  nor 
the  brutal  rules  that  had  governed,  nor  that  men  had 
been  exposed  to  death  at  the  hands  of  others  before 
his  eyes,  that  had  stirred  him  so.  It  was — Reivers. 
Reivers  sitting  up  there  on  the  table  playing  with 
men's  bodies  and  lives  as  with  so  many  cards — Reiv- 
ers, the  dominant,  lord  over  his  fellows. 

The  veins  swelled  in  Toppy's  big  neck  as  he  thought 
of  Reivers,  and  his  hitherto  good-natured  face  took 
on  a  scowl  that  might  have  become  some  ancestral 
man-captain  in  the  days  of  mace  and  mail,  but  which 
never  before  had  found  room  on  Toppy's  countenance 
— not  even  when  the  opposing  half-backs  were  guilty 
of  slugging.  But  he  was  playing  another  game  now, 
an  older  one,  a  fiercer  one,  and  one  which  called  to 
him  as  nothing  had  called  before.  It  was  the  man- 
game  now;  and  out  there  in  the  old,  stern  forest, 
spurred  by  the  challenge  of  the  man  who  was  his  natu- 
ral enemy,  the  primitive  fighting-man  in  Toppy  shook 
off  the  restraint  with  which  breeding,  education  and 
living  had  cumbered  him,  and  stood  out  in  a  fashion 
that  would  have  shocked  Toppy's  friends  back  East. 

Near  the  shop  he  met  Miss  Pearson.    By  her  man- 


"Hell-Camp"  Court  93 

ner  he  saw  that  she  had  been  waiting  for  him,  but 
Toppy  merely  raised  his  cap  and  made  to  pass  on. 

"Mr.  Treplin!"  There  was  astonishment  at  his 
rudeness  in  her  exclamation. 

"Well?"  said  Toppy. 

"Your  ankle?" 

"Oh,  yes.  Pardon  me  for  not  expressing  my  thanks 
before.  It's  almost  well — thanks  to  you  and  Mr. 
Reivers." 

She  made  a  slight  shrinking  movement  and  stood 
looking  at  him  for  a  moment.  She  opened  her  lips, 
but  no  words  came. 

"Old  Scotty  told  me  about  your  kindness  in  com- 
ing to  see  me,  you  and  Mr.  Reivers  together,"  said 
Toppy.  "It  was  a  relief  to  learn  that  your  confidence 
in  Reivers  was  justified." 

She  looked  up  quickly,  straight  into  his  eyes.  A 
troubled  look  swept  over  her  face.  Then  with  a  toss 
of  the  head  she  turned  and  crossed  the  road,  and 
Toppy  swung  on  his  way  to  the  room  in  the  rear  of 
the  shop  and  closed  the  door  behind  him  with  a  vi- 
cious slam. 


CHAPTER  XII 

TOPPY'S  FIRST  MOVE 

NEXT  morning,  in  the  cold  stillness  which  pre- 
cedes the  coming  of  daylight  in  the  North, 
Toppy  stood  leaning  on  his  axe-handle  cane  and 
watched  his  crew  of  a  dozen  men  file  out  of  the  stock- 
ade gate  and  turn  toward  the  stone-quarry.  They 
walked  with  the  driven  air  of  prisoners  going  to  pun- 
ishment. In  the  darkness  their  squat,  shapeless  fig- 
ures were  scarcely  human.  Their  heads  hung,  their 
steps  were  listless,  as  if  they  had  just  completed  a 
hard  day's  work  instead  of  having  arisen  from  a 
hearty  breakfast. 

The  complete  lack  of  spirit  evinced  by  the  men  irri- 
tated Toppy.  Was  Reivers  right  after  all?  Were 
they  nothing  but  clods,  undeserving  of  fair  and  in- 
telligent treatment? 

"Hey!  Wake  up  there!  You  look  like  a  bunch 
of  corpses.  Show  some  life!"  cried  Toppy,  in  whom 
the  bitter  morning  air  was  sending  the  red  blood 
tingling. 

The  men  did  not  raise  their  heads.  They  quick- 
ened their  stumbling  steps  a  little,  as  a  heavy  horse 
shambles  forward  a  little  under  the  whip.  One  or 
two  looked  back,  beyond  where  Toppy  was  walking 
at  the  side  of  the  line.  Treplin  with  curiosity  fol- 
lowed their  glances.  A  grim-lipped  shotgun  guard 
with  a  hideous  hawk  nose  had  emerged  from  the  dark- 
ness, and  with  his  short-barrelled  weapon  in  the  crook 

94 


Toppy's  First  Move  95 

of  his  arm  was  following  the  line  at  a  distance  of 
fifty  or  sixty  feet.  Toppy  halted  abruptly.  So  did 
the  guard. 

"What's  the  idea?"  demanded  Toppy.  "Reivers 
send  you?" 

"Yes,"  said  the  guard  gruffly. 

"Does  it  take  two  of  us  to  make  this  gang  work?" 
Toppy  was  irritated.  Reivers,  he  knew,  would  have 
handled  the  gang  alone. 

"The  boss  sent  me,"  said  the  guard,  with  a  finality 
that  indicated  that  for  him  that  ended  the  discus- 
sion. 

The  daylight  now  came  wanly  up  the  gap  made 
in  the  forest  by  the  brawling  river,  and  the  men  stood 
irresolute  before  the  quarry  and  peered  up  anxiously 
at  the  roof  of  the  pit. 

"Grab  your  tools,"  said  Toppy.  "Get  in  there  and 
get  to  it." 

The  men,  some  of  them  taking  picks  and  crowbars, 
some  wheelbarrows,  were  soon  ready  to  begin  the 
day's  work.  But  there  was  a  hitch  somewhere.  They 
stood  at  the  entrance  to  the  pit  and  did  not  go  in. 
They  looked  up  at  the  threatening  roof;  then  they 
looked  anxiously,  pleadingly,  at  Toppy.  But  Toppy 
was  thinking  savagely  of  how  Reivers  would  have 
handled  the  gang  alone  and  he  paid  no  attention. 

"Get  in  there!"  he  roared.  "Come  on;  get  to 
work!" 

Accustomed  to  being  driven,  they  responded  at  once 
to  his  command.  Between  two  fears,  fear  of  the  drop- 
ping rocks  and  fear  of  the  man  over  them,  they  en- 
tered the  quarry  and  began  the  day's  work.  The  guard 
took  up  a  position  on  a  slight  eminence,  where  he  was 
always  in  plain  sight  of  the  men,  whether  in  the  cave 
or  wheeling  the  rock  out  to  the  dam.  He  held  his 
gun  constantly  in  the  hollow  of  his  arm,  like  a  hunter. 


96 


The  Snow-Burner 


Ten  minutes  after  the  first  crowbar  had  clanged 
against  rock  in  the  quarry  there  was  a  rumbling  sound, 
a  crash,  a  scream;  and  the  men  came  scrambling  out 
in  terror.  Their  rush  stopped  abruptly  just  outside 
the  cave.  Toppy  was  standing  directly  before  them; 
the  man  with  the  gun  had  noisily  cocked  his  weapon 
and  brought  the  black  barrel  to  bear  on  the  heads 
of  the  men.  Half  of  them  slunk  at  once  back  into 
the  cave.  One  of  the  others  held  up  a  bleeding  hand 
to  Toppy. 

"Ah,  pleess,  bahss,  pleess/'  he  pleaded.  "Rock  kill 
us  next  time.  Pleess,  bahss !" 

There  was  a  moment  of  silence  while  Toppy  looked 
at  the  men's  terror-stricken  faces.  The  shotgun  guard 
rattled  the  slide  on  his  gun.  The  men  began  to  re- 
treat into  the  cave,  their  helplessness  and  hopelessness 
writ  large  upon  their  flat  faces. 

"Hold  on  there!"  said  Toppy  suddenly.  After  all, 
a  fellow  couldn't  do  things  like  that — drive  helpless 
cattle  like  these  to  certain  injury,  even  possible  death. 
"I'll  take  a  look  in  there." 

He  hobbled  and  shouldered  his  way  through  the  men 
and  entered  the  pit.  A  few  rocks  had  dropped  from 
the  roof,  luckily  falling  in  a  far  corner  beyond  where 
the  men  were  working.  But  Toppy  saw  at  once  how 
serious  this  petty  accident  was;  for  the  whole  roof 
of  the  cave  now  was  loosened,  and  as  sure  as  the 
men  pounded  and  pried  at  the  rocks  beneath  they 
would  bring  a  shower  of  stone  down  upon  their  heads. 

"Like  rats  in  a  trap,"  he  thought.  "Hi !"  he  called. 
"Get  out  of  here.  Get  out !" 

Down  near  the  dam  he  had  noticed  a  huge  pile 
of  old  timbers  which  probably  had  been  used  for  pil- 
ing while  the  dam  was  being  put  in.  Thither  he  now 
led  his  men,  and  shouldering  the  largest  piece  him- 
self he  hobbled  back  to  the  cave  followed  by  the  gang, 


Toppy's  First  Move  97 

each  bearing  a  timber.  A  sudden  change  had  come 
over  the  men  as  he  indicated  what  he  was  going  to 
do.  They  moved  more  rapidly.  Their  terror  was 
gone.  Some  of  them  smiled,  and  some  talked  ex- 
citedly. Under  Toppy's  direction  they  went  to  work 
with  a  vim  shoring  up  the  loosened  roof  of  the  cave. 
It  was  only  a  half-hour's  work  to  place  the  props  so 
that  the  men  working  beneath  were  free  of  any  seri- 
ous danger  from  above.  Toppy  could  sense  the 
change  of  feeling  toward  him  that  had  come  over  the 
men  as  they  saw  the  timbers  go  into  place,  and  he 
was  forced  to  admit  that  it  warmed  him  comfortably. 
They  sprang  eagerly  to  obey  his  slightest  behest,  and 
the  gratitude  in  their  faces  was  pitiful  to  behold. 

"Now  jump !"  said  Toppy  when  the  roof  was  safely 
propped.  "Hustle  and  make  up  the  time  we've  lost." 

As  he  came  out  of  the  cave  the  place  fairly  rang 
with  noise  as  the  men  furiously  tore  loose  the  rock 
and  dumped  it  in  the  barrows.  Toppy  took  a  long 
breath  and  wiped  his  brow.  The  hawk-nosed  guard 
spat  in  disgust. 

"Will  you  do  me  a  favour?"  said  Toppy,  suddenly 
swinging  toward  him. 

"What  is  it?"  asked  the  man. 

"Take  a  message  to  Mr.  Reivers  from  me.  Tell  him 
your  services  are  no  longer  required  at  this  spot.  Tell 
him  I  said  you  looked  like  a  fool,  standing  up  there 
with  your  bum  gun.  Tell  him — "  Toppy,  despite  his 
sore  ankle,  had  swung  up  the  rise  and  was  beside 
the  guard  before  the  latter  thought  of  making  a 
move — "that  I  said  I'd  throw  you  and  your  gun  in 
the  river  if  you  didn't  duck.  And  for  your  own  in- 
formation— "  Toppy  was  towering  over  the  man — 
"I'll  do  it  right  now,  unless  you  get  out  of  here — 
quick!" 

The  guard's  shifty  eyes  tried  to  meet  Toppy's  and 


98  The  Snow-Burner 

failed.  Against  the  Slavs  he  would  have  dared  to 
use  his  gun;  they  were  his  inferiors.  Against  Toppy 
he  did  not  dare  even  so  much  as  to  think  of  the 
weapon,  and  without  it  he  was  only  a  jail-rat,  afraid 
of  men  who  looked  him  in  the  eyes. 

"The  boss  sent  me  here,"  he  said  sullenly. 

Toppy  leaned  forward  until  his  face  was  close  to 
the  guard's.  The  man  shrank. 

"Duck!"  said  Toppy.  That  was  all.  The  guard 
moved  away  with  an  alacrity  that  showed  how  uncom- 
fortable the  spot  had  become  to  him. 

"You'll  hear  about  this!"  he  whined  from  a  dis- 
tance. 

And  Toppy  laughed,  laughed  carelessly  and  loudly, 
rampant  with  the  sensation  of  power.  The  men,  scur- 
rying past  with  barrows  of  rock,  noted  the  retreat 
of  the  guard  and  smiled.  They  looked  up  at  Toppy 
with  slavish  admiration,  as  lesser  men  look  up  to 
the  champion  who  has  triumphed  before  their  eyes. 
One  or  two  of  the  older  men  raised  their  hats  as  they 
passed  him,  their  Old-World  serf-like  way  of  show- 
ing how  they  felt  toward  him. 

"Jump!"  ordered  Toppy  gruffly.  "Get  a  move  on 
there;  make  up  that  lost  time." 

Reivers  had  said  that  a  hundred  barrows  an  hour 
must  be  dumped  into  the  dam.  With  a  half  hour 
lost  in  shoring  up  the  roof,  there  were  fifty  loads  to 
be  caught  up  during  the  day  if  the  average  was  to 
be  maintained.  Carefully  timing  each  load  and  keep- 
ing tally  for  half  an  hour,  Toppy  saw  that  a  hundred 
loads  per  hour  was  the  limit  of  his  gang  working 
at  a  normal  pace.  To  get  out  the  hundred  loads  they 
must  keep  steadily  at  work,  with  no  time  lost  because 
of  the  falling  rocks  from  above. 

He  began  to  see  the  method  of  Reivers'  apparent 
madness  in  placing  him  in  charge  of  the  gang.  With 


Toppy's  First  Move  99 

the  gang  working  in  the  dead,  terrorised  fashion  that 
had  characterised  their  movements  before  the  tim- 
bers were  in  place,  Toppy  knew  that  he  would  have 
failed;  he  could  not  have  got  out  the  hundred  loads 
per  hour.  Reivers  would  have  proved  him  to  be  his 
inferior ;  for  Reivers,  with  his  inhumanity,  would  have 
driven  the  gang  as  if  no  lives  nor  limbs  hung  on  the 
tissue. 

Toppy  smiled  grimly  as  he  looked  at  his  watch  and 
marked  new  figures  on  the  tally  sheet.  The  men,  piti- 
fully grateful  for  the  protecting  timbers,  had  taken 
hold  of  their  work  with  such  new  life  that  the  rock 
was  going  into  the  dam  at  the  rate  of  one  hundred  and 
twenty  loads  an  hour. 

"Move  number  one!"  muttered  Toppy,  snapping 
shut  his  watch.  "I  wonder  what  the  Snow-Burner's 
come-back  will  be  when  he  knows.  Hey,  you  rough- 
necks !  Keep  moving,  there ;  keep  moving !" 

The  men  responded  cheerfully  to  his  every  com- 
mand. They  could  gladly  obey  his  will;  they  were 
safe  under  him ;  he  had  taken  care  of  them,  the  help- 
less ones.  That  evening,  when  they  filed  back  into 
the  stockade  under  Toppy's  watchful  eye,  one  of  the 
older  men,  a  swarthy  old  fellow  with  large  brass  rings 
in  his  ears,  sank  his  hat  low  as  he  passed  in. 

"Buna  nopte,  Domnule,"  he  said  humbly. 

"What  did  he  say?"  demanded  Toppy  of  one  of 
the  young  men  who  knew  a  little  English. 

"Plees,  bahss ;  old  man,  he  Magyar,"  was  the  reply. 
"He  say,  'Good  night,  master.' ' 

Toppy  stood  dum founded  while  the  line  passed 
through  the  gate. 

"Well,"  he  said  with  a  grin,  "what  do  you  know 
about  that?" 


REIVERS   REPLIES 

REIVERS  did  not  come  to  the  shop  that  night  for 
his  evening  diversion,  nor  did  Toppy  see  him 
at  all  during  the  next  day.  But  in  the  morning  fol- 
lowing he  saw  that  Reivers  had  taken  cognizance  in 
his  own  peculiar  way  of  Toppy's  action  in  driving 
the  shotgun  guard  away  from  the  quarry.  As  the 
line  of  rock  men  filed  out  of  the  stockade  in  the  chill 
half  light  Toppy  saw  that  the  best  worker  of  his  gang, 
a  cheerful,  stocky  man  called  Mikal,  was  missing.  In 
his  place,  walking  with  the  successful  plug-ugly's  in- 
solent swagger,  was  none  other  than  Bill  Sheedy,  the 
appointed  trouble-maker  of  Hell  Camp;  and  Toppy 
knew  that  Reivers  had  made  another  move  in  his  tan- 
talising game. 

He  went  hot  despite  the  raw  chilliness  at  the  thought 
of  it.  Reivers  was  playing  with  him,  too,  playing  even 
as  he  had  played  with  Rosky !  And  Toppy  knew  that, 
like  Rosky,  the  Snow-Burner  had  selected  him,  too, 
to  be  crushed — to  be  marked  as  an  inferior,  to  be 
made  to  acknowledge  Reivers  as  his  master. 

Reivers  had  read  the  challenge  which  was  in  Top- 
py's eyes  and  had,  with  his  cold  smile  of  complete 
confidence  and  contempt,  taken  up  the  gauge.  The 
substitution  of  Bill  Sheedy,  Reivers'  pet  trouble- 
maker, for  an  effective  workman  was  a  definite  move 
toward  Toppy's  humiliation. 

There  was  nothing  in  Toppy's  manner,  however, 

IOO 


Reivers  Replies  101 

to  indicate  his  feelings  as  he  followed  the  line  to 
the  quarry.  Toppy  allowed  Sheedy's  swagger,  by 
which  he  plainly  indicated  that  he  was  hunting  for 
trouble,  to  go  as  if  unobserved.  Sheedy,  being  ex- 
tremely simple  of  mind,  leaped  instantly  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Toppy  was  afraid  of  him  and  swaggered 
more  insolently  than  ever.  He  was  in  an  irritable 
mood  this  morning,  was  Bill  Sheedy;  and  as  soon 
as  the  gang  was  out  of  sight  of  the  stockade — and, 
thought  Toppy  bitterly,  therefore  out  of  possible  sight 
of  Reivers — he  began  to  vent  his  irritation  upon  his 
fellow-workmen. 

He  shouldered  them  out  of  his  way,  swore  at  them, 
threatened  them  with  his  fists,  kicked  them  carelessly. 
There  was  no  finesse  in  Bill's  method;  he  was  mad 
and  showed  it.  When  the  daylight  came  up  the  river 
sufficiently  strong  to  begin  the  day's  work,  Bill  had 
worked  himself  up  to  a  proper  frame  of  mind  for 
his  purpose.  He  stood  still  while  the  other  men  will- 
ingly seized  their  tools  and  barrows  and  tramped  into 
the  quarry. 

Toppy  apparently  did  not  notice.  So  far  as  he  in- 
dicated by  his  manner  he  was  quite  oblivious  of  Shee- 
dy's existence.  Bill  stood  looking  at  Toppy  with 
a  scowl  on  his  unpretty  face,  awaiting  the  order  to 
go  in  with  the  other  men.  The  order  did  not  come. 
Toppy  was  busy  directing  the  men  where  to  begin  their 
work.  He  did  not  so  much  as  look  at  Bill.  Bill  finally 
was  forced  to  call  attention  to  himself. 

" !"  he  growled,  spitting  generously.  "Yah 

ain't  goin'  tuh  git  me  tuh  wurruk  in  no  hole  like  that." 

"All  right,  Bill,"  said  Toppy  instantly.    "All  right." 

Bill  was  staggered.  His  simple  mind  failed  utterly 
to  comprehend  that  there  might  lie  something  behind 
Toppy's  apparently  humble  manner.  Bill  could  see 
only  one  thing — the  straw-boss  was  afraid  of  him. 


IO2  The  Snow-Burner 

"Yah  know  it,  it's  all  right!"  he  spluttered. 

"If  it  ain't  I'd soon  make  it  all  right." 

"Sure,"  said  Toppy,  and  without  looking  toward 
Bill  he  hurried  into  the  quarry  to  see  how  the  timbers 
were  standing  the  strain.  Bill  stood  puzzled.  He  had 
bluffed  the  straw-boss,  sure  enough ;  but  still  the  thing 
wasn't  entirely  satisfactory.  The  boss  didn't  seem  to 
care  whether  he  worked  or  whether  he  loafed.  Bill 
refused  to  be  treated  with  such  little  consideration. 
He  was  of  more  importance  than  that. 

"Hey,  you!"  he  called  as  Toppy  emerged  from  the 
pit.  "I'm  going  to  wheel  rock  down  to  the  dam,  that's 
what  I'm  going  tuh  do.  Going  to  wheel  it;  but  yuh 
ain't  goin'  tuh  make  me  go  in  there  and  dig  it.  See? 
I'm  going  to  wheel  rock." 

Now  for  the  first  time  Toppy  seemed  to  consider 
Bill. 

"What  makes  you  think  you  are?"  he  said  quietly. 
He  was  looking  at  his  watch,  but  Bill  noticed  that 
in  spite  of  his  sore  ankle  and  cane  the  boss  had  man- 
aged to  move  near  to  him  in  uncannily  swift  fashion. 

"You  know  you  can't  work  here  now,"  Toppy  con- 
tinued before  Bill's  thick  wits  had  framed  an  answer. 
"You  won't  go  into  the  quarry,  so  I  can't  use  you." 

Bill  stared  as  if  bereft  of  all  of  his  faculties.  The 
boss*had  slipped  his  watch  back  into  his  pocket.  He 
had  turned  away. 

"Can't  use  me — can't Say !  Who  says  I  can't 

work  here?"  roared  Bill,  shaking  his  fists.  He  was 
standing  on  the  plank  on  which  the  wheelbarrows  were 
rolled  out  of  the  cave,  blocking  the  way  of  the  men 
with  the  first  loads  of  the  day. 

"Look  out,  Bill!"  said  Toppy  softly,  turning  around. 
Instinctively  Bill  threw  up  his  guard — threw  it  up 
to  guard  his  jaw.  Toppy's  left  drove  into  his  solar 
plexus  so  hard  that  Bill  seemed  to  be  moulded  on  to 


Reivers  Replies  103 

the  fist,  hung  there  until  he  dropped  and  rolled  back- 
ward on  the  ground. 

"Get  along  there !"  commanded  Toppy  to  the  wheel- 
barrowmen.  "The  way's  clear.  Jump!" 

Grinning  and  snatching  glances  of  ridicule  at  the 
prostrate  Sheedy,  they  hurried  past.  They  dumped 
their  loads  in  the  dam  and  came  back  with  empty 
barrows,  and  still  Sheedy  lay  there,  like  a  dumped 
grain-sack,  to  one  side  of  their  path.  The  flat  faces 
of  the  men  cracked  with  grins  as  they  looked  wor- 
ship fully  at  Toppy. 

"Jump!"  said  he.  "Get  a  move  on,  you  rough- 
necks !" 

And  they  grinned  more  widely  in  sheer  delight  at 
his  rough  ordering. 

Bill  Sheedy  lay  for  a  long  time  as  he  had  fallen. 
The  blow  he  had  stopped  would  have  done  for  a  pugi- 
list in  good  condition,  and  Sheedy's  midriff  was  soft 
and  fat.  Finally  he  raised  his  head  and  looked  around. 
Such  surprise  and  wobegoneness  showed  in  his  ex- 
pression that  the  grinning  Slavs  laughed  outright  at 
him.  Bill  slowly  came  to  a  sitting  posture  and  drew 
a  hand  across  his  puzzled  brow  while  he  looked  dully 
at  the  laughing  men  and  at  Toppy.  Then  he  remem- 
bered and  he  dropped  his  eyes. 

"Get  on  your  way,  Bill,"  said  Toppy  casually.  "If 
you're  not  able  to  walk,  I'll  have  half  a  dozen  of  the 
men  help  you.  You're  through  here." 

Bill  lurched  unsteadily  to  his  feet  and  staggered 
away  a  few  steps.  That  terrific  punch  and  the  iron- 
calm  manner  of  the  man  who  had  dealt  it  had  scared 
him.  His  first  thought  was  to  get  out  of  reach;  his 
second,  one  of  anger  at  the  Bohunks  who  dared  to 
laugh  at  him,  Bill  Sheedy,  the  fighting  man ! 

But  the  fashion  in  which  the  men  laughed  took  the 
nerve  out  of  Bill.  They  were  laughing  contemptu- 


104  The  Snow-Burner 

ously  at  him ;  they  looked  down  upon  him ;  they  were 
no  longer  afraid.  And  there  were  a  dozen  of  them, 
and  they  laughed  together ;  and  Bill  Sheedy  knew  that 
his  days  as  camp  bully  were  over.  The  straw-boss 
was  looking  at  him  coldly,  and  Bill  moved  farther 
away.  Fifteen  minutes  later  the  straw-boss,  who  had 
apparently  been  oblivious  of  his  presence,  swung 
around  and  said  abruptly: 

"What's  the  matter,  Bill?  Why  don't  you  go  back 
to  Reivers?" 

Bill's  growled  reply  contained  several  indistinct  but 
definitely  profane  characterisations  of  Reivers. 

"I  can't  go  back  to  him,"  Sheedy  said  sullenly. 

"Why  not?"  laughed  Treplin.  "He's  your  friend, 
isn't  he?  He  let  you  keep  the  money  you'd  stolen, 
and  all  that." 

"Keep !"  growled  Sheedy.  "He's  got  that  him- 
self. Made  me  make  him  a  present  of  it,  or — or  he'd 
turn  me  over  for  a  little  trouble  I  had  down  in 
Duluth." 

Toppy  stiffened  and  looked  at  him  carefully. 

"Telling  the  truth,  Bill?" 

"Ask  him,"  replied  Sheedy.  "He  don't  make  no 
bones  about  it;  he  gets  something  on  you  and  then 
he  grafts  on  you  till  you're  dry." 

Toppy  stood  silent  while  he  assimulated  this  in- 
formation. His  scrutiny  of  Sheedy  told  him  that 
the  man  was  telling  the  truth.  He  felt  grateful  to 
Sheedy;  through  him  he  had  got  a  new  light  on 
Reivers'  character,  light  which  he  knew  he  could  use 
later  on. 

"Through  making  an  ass  of  yourself  here,  Bill?"  he 
asked  briskly.  Bill's  answer  was  to  hang  his  head 
in  a  way  that  showed  how  thoroughly  all  the  fight 
was  taken  out  of  him. 

"All  right,  then;  grab  a  wheelbarrow  and  get  into 


Reivers  Replies  105 

the  pit.  Keep  your  end  up  with  the  other  men  and 
there'll  be  no  hard  feelings.  Try  to  play  any  of  your 
tricks,  and  it's  good  night  for  you.  Now  get  to  it, 
or  get  out." 

Sheedy's  rush  for  a  wheelbarrow  showed  how  re- 
lieved he  was.  He  had  been  standing  between  the 
devil  and  the  deep  sea — between  Reivers  with  his  awful 
displeasure  and  Toppy  with  his  awful  punch;  and  he 
was  eager  to  find  a  haven. 

"I  ain't  trying  any  tricks/'  he  muttered  as  he  made 
for  the  quarry.  "The  Snow-Burner — he's  the  one. 
He  copped  me  dough  and  sent  me  down  here  and  told 
me  to  work  off  my  mad  on  you." 

"Well,  you've  worked  it  off  now,  I  guess,"  said 
Toppy  curtly.  "Dig  in,  now;  you're  half  a  dozen 
loads  behind." 

Sheedy  did  not  fill  the  place  of  the  man  he  had 
supplanted,  for  in  his  mixed-ale  condition  he  was  un- 
able to  work  a  full  day  at  a  strong  man's  pace.  How- 
ever, he  did  so  well  that  when  Toppy  checked  up  in 
the  evening  he  found  that  his  tally  again  was  well 
over  the  stipulated  average  of  a  hundred  loads  of  rock 
per  hour. 

"Move  two,"  he  thought.  "I  wonder  what  comes 
next?" 


CHAPTER  XIV 
"JOKER  AND  DEUCES  WILD" 

WHEN  Toppy  went  back  to  the  shop  that  even- 
ing he  found  old  Campbell  cooking-  the  evening 
meal  with  only  his  right  hand  in  use,  the  left  being 
wrapped  in  a  neat  bandage. 

'That's  what  comes  of  leaving  me  without  a  helper," 
grumbled  the  Scot  as  Toppy  looked  enquiringly  at  the 
injured  hand.  "I  maun  have  ye  back,  lad;  I  will  not 
be  knocking  my  hands  to  pieces  doing  two  men's  work 
to  please  any  man.  And  yet — "  he  cocked  his  head 
on  one  side  and  looked  fondly  at  the  bandage — "I 
dunno  but  what  'twas  worth  it.  I'm  an  auld  man,  and 
it's  long  sin'  I  had  a  pretty  lass  make  fuss  over  me." 

"What?"  snapped  Toppy. 

"Oh,  go  on  with  ye,  lad,"  teased  Scotty,  holding  the 
bandage  up  for  his  admiration.  "Can  not  you  see 
that  I'm  by  nature  a  fav'rite  with  the  ladies?  Yon 
lass  in  the  office  sewed  this  bandage  on  my  old  meat 
hook. 

"  'Does  it  hurt,  Mr.  Campbell  ?'  says  she.  'Not 
as  much  as  something  that's  heavy  on  my  mind,  lass,' 
says  I.  'What's  that?'  she  says.  'Mr.  Reivers  and 
you,  lass,'  says  I;  and  I  told  her  as  well  as  an  old 
man  can  tell  a  lass  who's  little  more  than  a  child  just 
what  the  Snow-Burner  is.  'I  can't  believe  it,'  says 
she.  'He's  a  gentleman.'  'More's  the  pity.'  I  says. 
'That's  what  makes  him  dangerous.'  'Were  you  not 
afraid  of  him  at  first?'  says  I.  'Yes/  she  says.  'Tell 

106 


"Joker  and  Deuces  Wild"       107 

me  honest,  as  you  would  your  own  father,'  says  I,  'are 
you  not  afraid  of  him  now?' 

"With  that  she  gave  me  a  look  like  a  little  fawn 
that  has  smelled  the  wolf  circling  'round  it,  but  she 
will  not  answer.  'He  can't  be  what  you  say  he  is,' 
she  says,  trembling.  'Lass,'  says  I,  'a  week  ago  you 
would  never  have  believed  it  possible  that  you'd  ever 
wish  aught  to  do  with  him.  Now  you  walk  with  him 
and  talk  with  him,  and  smile  when  he  does/  And 
I  told  her  of  Tilly. 

"  'It's  not  so,'  says  she.  'It  can't  be  so.  Mr. 
Reivers  is  a  gentleman,  not  a  brute.  He's  too  strong 
and  fine,'  says  she,  'for  such  conduct.'  And  the  band- 
age being  done,  I  was  dismissed  with  a  toss  of  the  head. 
Aye,  aye,  lad;  but  'twas  fine  to  have  her  little  fingers 
sewing  away  around  my  old  hand.  Yon's  a  fine,  sweet 
lass;  but  I  fear  me  Reivers  has  set  his  will  to  win 
her." 

Toppy  made  no  reply.  Campbell's  words  aroused 
only  one  emotion  in  him — a  fresh  flare  of  anger 
against  Reivers.  For  it  was  Reivers,  and  his  strength 
and  dominance,  that  was  responsible.  Toppy  already 
was  sorry  for  the  swift  judgment  that  he  had  passed 
on  the  girl  on  Sunday,  and  for  the  rudeness  which, 
in  his  anger,  he  had  displayed  toward  her.  He  knew 
now  the  power  that  lay  in  Reivers'  will,  the  calm, 
compelling  fire  that  lurked  in  his  eyes. 

Men  quailed  before  those  eyes  and  did  their  bid- 
ding. And  a  girl,  a  little  girl  who  must  naturally 
feel  grateful  toward  him  for  her  position,  could  hardly 
be  expected  to  resist  the  Snow-Burner's  undeniable 
fascinations.  Why  should  she?  Reivers  was  every- 
thing that  women  were  drawn  to  in  men — kinglike  in 
his  power  of  mind  and  body,  striking  in  appearance, 
successful  in  whatever  he  sought  to  do. 

It  was  inevitable  that  the  girl  should  fall  under  his 


io8  The  Snow-Burner 

spell,  but  the  thought  of  it  sent  a  chill  up  Toppy's 
spine  as  from  the  thought  of  something  monstrous. 
He  raged  inwardly  as  he  remembered  how  clearly  the 
girl  had  let  him  see  his  own  insignificance  in  her  es- 
timation compared  with  Reivers.  She  had  refused 
to  believe  Campbell;  Toppy  knew  that  she  would  re- 
fuse to  listen  to  him  if  he  tried  to  warn  her  against 
Reivers. 

The  fashion  in  which  he  slammed  the  supper-dishes 
on  the  table  brought  a  protest  from  Scotty. 

"Dinna  be  so  strong  with  the  dishes,  lad ;  they're  not 
iron,"  said  he. 

"You  'tend  to  your  cooking,"  growled  Toppy.  "I'll 
set  this  table." 

Campbell  paused  with  a  spoon  in  midair  and  gaped 
at  him  in  astonishment.  He  opened  his  mouth  to 
speak,  but  the  black  scowl  on  Toppy's  brow  checked 
his  tongue.  Silently  he  turned  to  his  cooking.  He 
had  seen  that  he  was  no  longer  boss  in  the  room  be- 
hind the  shop. 

After  supper  Campbell  brought  forth  a  deck  of 
cards  and  began  to  play  solitaire.  Toppy  threw  him- 
self upon  his  bunk  and  lay  in  the  darkness  with  his 
troublesome  thoughts.  An  unmistakable  step  out- 
side the  door  brought  him  to  his  feet,  for  he  had  an 
instinctive  dislike  to  meeting  Reivers  save  face  to 
face  and  standing  up.  Reivers  came  in  without  speak- 
ing and  shut  the  door  behind  him.  He  stood  with 
his  hand  on  the  knob  and  looked  over  at  Toppy  and 
shook  his  head. 

"Treplin,  how  could  you  disappoint  me  so?"  he 
asked  mockingly.  "After  I  had  reposed  such  confi- 
dence in  you,  too!  I'm  sorely  disappointed  in  you. 
I  never  looked  for  you  to  be  a  victim  of  the  teach- 
ings of  weak  men  and  I  find — ye  gods!  I  find  that 
you're  a  humanitarian !" 


"Joker  and  Deuces  Wild"      109 

By  this  and  this  only  did  Reivers  indicate  that  he 
had  knowledge  of  how  Toppy  had  protected  his  men. 

Toppy  looked  steadily  across  the  room  at  him,  a 
grim  smile  on  his  lips. 

"Did  Bill  Sheedy  call  me  that?"  he  asked  drily. 
"Shame  on  him  if  he  did;  I  didn't  make  him  slip  me 
the  Torta  boys'  money  as  a  present." 

Reivers'  laugh  rang  instantly  through  the  room. 

"So  you've  won  Bill's  confidences  already,  have 
you?"  he  said  without  the  slightest  trace  of  shame 
or  discomfiture.  "Dear  old  Bill !  He  actually  seemed 
to  be  under  the  impression  that  he  had  a  title  to  that 
money — until  I  suggested  otherwise.  I  ask  you,  Trep- 
lin,  as  a  man  with  a  trained  if  not  an  efficient  mind, 
is  Bill  Sheedy  a  proper  man  to  possess  the  title  to 
ninety-eight  dollars?" 

He  swung  across  the  room,  laughing  heartily,  and 
reached  into  the  cupboard  for  Scotty's  whiskey.  As 
he  did  so  his  eyes  fell  upon  the  cards  which  Scotty 
was  placing  upon  the  table,  and  for  the  first  time 
Toppy  saw  in  his  eyes  the  gleam  of  a  human  weak- 
ness. Reivers  stood,  paused,  for  an  instant,  his  eyes 
feasting  upon  the  cards.  It  was  only  an  instant,  but 
it  was  enough  to  whisper  to  Toppy  the  secret  of  the 
Snow-Burner's  passion  for  play.  And  Toppy  exulted 
at  this  chance  discovery  of  the  vulnerable  joint  in 
Reivers'  armour;  for  Toppy — alas  for  his  misspent 
youth! — was  a  master-warrior  when  a  deck  of  cards 
was  the  field  of  battle. 

"It's  none  of  my  funeral,  Reivers,"  he  said  care- 
lessly, strolling  over  to  the  table  where  Campbell 
went  on  playing,  apparently  oblivious  to  the  conver- 
sation. "I  don't  know  anything  about  Sheedy.  Of 
course,  if  you're  serious,  the  Torta  boys  are  the  only 
ones  in  camp  who've  got  any  right  to  the  money." 

Reivers  stopped  short  in  the  act  of  pouring  himself 


no  The  Snow-Burner 

a  drink.  Campbell,  with  his  back  toward  Reivers, 
paused  with  a  card  in  his  hand.  Toppy  yawned  and 
dropped  into  a  chair  from  which  he  could  watch  Camp- 
bell's game. 

"But  that's  none  of  my  business,"  he  said  as  if 
dropping  the  subject.  "There's  a  chance  for  your 
black  queen,  Scotty." 

Reivers  poured  himself  his  tumbler  full  of  Scotch 
whiskey,  drew  up  a  third  chair  to  the  table  and  sat 
down  across  from  Toppy.  The  latter  apparently  was 
absorbed  in  watching  Campbell's  solitaire.  Reivers 
took  a  long,  contented  sip  of  his  fiery  tipple  and 
smiled  pleasantly. 

"You  turned  loose  an  idea  there,  Treplin,"  he  said. 
"But  can  you  make  your  premise  stand  argument? 
Are  you  sure  that  the  Torta  boys  are  the  ones  who 
have  a  right  to  that  ninety-eight  dollars?  On  what 
grounds  do  you  give  them  the  exclusive  title  to  the 
money?" 

"It's  theirs.  Bill  stole  it  from  them.  You  said  he 
did.  That's  all  I  know  about  it,"  said  Toppy,  scarcely 
raising  his  eyes  from  the  cards. 

"Why  do  you  say  it  was  theirs,  Treplin  ?"  persisted 
Reivers  smilingly.  "Merely  because  they  had  it  in 
their  possession!  Isn't  that  so?  You  don't  know 
how  they  came  by  it,  but  because  they  had  it  in  their 
possession  you  speak  of  it  as  theirs.  Very  well.  Bill 
Sheedy  took  it  away  from  them.  It  was  in  his  pos- 
session, so,  following  your  line  of  logic,  it  was  his 
— for  a  short  while. 

"I  took  it  from  Bill.  It's  in  my  possession  now. 
Therefore,  if  your  premise  is  sound,  the  money  is 
mine.  Why,  Treplin,  I'm  really  obliged  to  you  for 
furnishing  me  such  a  clear  title  to  my  loot.  It  was 
— ah — beginning  to  trouble  my  conscience."  He 


"Joker  and  Deuces  Wild"      in 

laughed  suddenly,  punctuating  his  laughter  with  a 
blow  of  his  fist  on  the  table. 

"All  rot,  Treplin;  all  silly  sophistry  which  weak 
men  have  built  up  to  protect  themselves  from  the 
strong!  The  infernal  lie  that  because  a  man  is  in 
possession  of  a  certain  thing  it  is  his  to  the  exclusion 
of  the  rest  of  the  world!  Property-rights!  I'll  tell 
you  the  truth — why  this  money  is  mine,  why  I'm  the 
one  who  has  the  real  title  to  it.  I  was  able  to  take 
it,  and  I  am  able  to  keep  it  There's  the  natural  law 
of  property-rights,  Treplin.  What  do  you  say  to 
that?" 

"Fine!"  laughed  Toppy,  throwing  up  his  hands  in 
surrender.  "You  bowl  me  over,  Reivers.  The  money 
is  yours;  and — "  he  glanced  at  the  cards  " — and  if 
you  and  I  should  play  a  little  game  of  poker,  joker 
and  deuces  wild,  and  I  should  take  it  away  from  you, 
it  would  be  mine;  and  there  you  are." 

The  words  had  slipped  out  of  him,  apparently  with- 
out any  aim;  but  Toppy  saw  by  the  sudden  glance 
which  Reivers  dropped  to  the  cards  that  the  gambling- 
hunger  in  the  Snow-Burner  had  been  awakened. 

"Joker  and  deuces  wild,"  he  repeated  as  if  fasci- 
nated. "Yes,  that  ought  to  help  make  a  two-handed 
game  fast." 

The  whole  manner  of  the  man  seemed  for  the  mo- 
ment changed.  For  the  first  time  since  Toppy  had 
met  him  he  seemed  to  be  seriously  interested.  Pre- 
viously, when  he  played  with  the  lives  and  bodies 
of  men  or  devilled  their  minds  with  his  wiles,  his 
interest  had  never  been  deeper  than  that  of  a  man 
who  plays  to  keep  himself  from  being  bored.  He  was 
the  master  in  all  such  affairs;  they  could  furnish 
him  at  their  best  but  an  idle  sort  of  interest.  But 
not  even  the  Snow-Burner  was  master  of  the  inscruta- 
ble laws  of  Chance.  Nor  was  he  master  of  himself 


112  The  Snow-Burner 

when  cards  were  flipping  before  his  eyes.  Toppy  had 
guessed  right;  Reivers  had  a  weakness,  and  it  was 
to  be  "card-crazy." 

"Get  over  there  on  that  other  table  with  your  soli- 
taire, Campbell !"  he  ordered.  He  reached  into  Camp- 
bell's liquor-cabinet  and  drew  out  a  fresh  pack  of 
cards,  which  he  tossed  to  Toppy.  "You  started  some- 
thing, Mr.  Humanitarian,"  he  continued,  clearing  the 
table.  "Open  the  deck  and  cut  for  deal.  Then  show 
me  what  you've  got  to  stack  up  against  this  ninety- 
eight  dollars."  And  he  slapped  a  wad  of  crumpled 
bills  on  the  table. 

Toppy  nonchalantly  reached  into  his  pockets.  Then 
he  grinned.  The  two  twenty-dollar  bills  which  he  had 
paid  the  agent  back  in  Rail  Head  for  the  privilege 
of  hiring  out  to  Hell  Camp  were  all  the  money  he 
had  with  him.  He  was  broke.  He  debated  with  him- 
self a  moment,  then  unhooked  his  costly  watch  from 
the  chain  and  pushed  it  across  to  Reivers. 

"You  can  sell  that  for  five  hundred — if  you  win  it," 
he  said.  "I'll  play  it  even  against  your  ninety-eight 
bucks.  Give  me  forty-nine  to  start  with.  If  you  win 
them  give  me  forty-nine  more,  and  the  watch  is  yours. 
Right?" 

"Right,"  said  Reivers,  keeping  the  watch  and  di- 
viding his  roll  with  Toppy.  "Dollar  jack-pots,  table- 
stakes.  Deal  'em  up." 

Toppy  lost  ten  dollars  on  the  first  hand  almost  be- 
fore he  realised  that  the  game  had  begun.  He  called 
Reivers'  bet  and  had  three  fours  and  nothing  else 
in  his  hand.  Reivers  had  two  of  the  wild  deuces 
and  a  king.  Toppy  shook  his  head,  like  a  pugilist 
clearing  his  wits  after  a  knockdown.  Why  had  he 
called?  He  knew  his  three  fours  weren't  good.  His 
card-sense  had  told  him  so.  He  had  called  against 
his  judgment.  Why? 


"Joker  and  Deuces  Wild"      113 

Suddenly,  like  something  tangible  pressing  against 
his  brain,  he  felt  Reivers'  will  thrusting  itself  against 
his.  Then  he  knew.  That  was  why  he  had  called. 
Reivers  had  willed  that  he  do  so,  and,  catching  him  off 
his  guard,  had  had  his  way. 

"Good  work!"  said  Toppy,  passing  the  cards.  He 
was  himself  again;  his  wits  had  cleared.  He  allowed 
Reivers  to  take  the  next  three  pots  in  succession  with- 
out a  bet.  Reivers  looked  at  him  puzzled.  The  fourth 
pot  Toppy  opened  for  five  dollars  and  Reivers 
promptly  raised  him  ten.  After  the  draw  Toppy  bet 
a  dollar,  and  Reivers  again  raised  it  to  ten  more. 
Toppy  called.  Reivers,  caught  bluffing  without  a  sin- 
gle pair,  stared  as  Toppy  laid  down  his  hand  and 
revealed  nothing  but  his  original  openers,  a  pair  of 
aces.  A  frown  passed  over  Reivers'  face.  He  peered 
sharply  at  Toppy  from  beneath  his  overhanging  brows, 
but  Toppy  was  raking  in  the  pot  as  casually  as  if  such 
play  with  a  pair  of  aces  was  part  of  his  system. 

"Good  work !"  said  Reivers,  and  gathered  the  cards 
to  him  with  a  jerk. 

Half  a  dozen  hands  later,  on  Reivers'  deal,  Toppy 
picked  up  his  hand  and  saw  four  kings. 

"I'll  pass,"  said  he. 

"I  open  for  five,"  said  Reivers. 

"Take  the  money,"  laughed  Toppy  carelessly  throw- 
ing his  hand  into  the  discard.  For  an  instant  Reivers' 
eyes  searched  him  with  a  look  of  surprise.  The  glance 
was  sufficient  to  tell  Toppy  that  what  he  had  sus- 
pected was  true. 

"So  he's  dealing  'em  as  he  wants  'em!"  thought 
Toppy.  "All  right.  He's  brought  it  on  himself." 

An  hour  later  Reivers  arose  from  the  table  with 
a  smile.  The  money  had  changed  hands.  Toppy  was 
snapping  his  watch  back  on  its  chain,  and  stuffing  the 
bills  into  his  pocket. 


H4  The  Snow-Burner 

"Your  money  now,  Treplin,"  laughed  Reivers. 
"Until  somebody  takes  it  away  from  you." 

But  there  was  a  new  note  in  his  laughter.  He  had 
been  beaten,  and  his  irritation  showed  in  his  laughter 
and  in  the  manner  in  which,  after  he  had  taken  an- 
other big  drink  of  whiskey,  he  paused  in  the  door- 
way as  he  made  to  leave. 

"Great  luck,  Treplin;  great  luck  with  cards  you 
have!"  he  said  laughingly.  "Too  bad  your  luck  ends 
there,  isn't  it?  What's  that  paraphrase  of  the  old 
saw?  'Lucky  with  cards,  unlucky  with  women.' 
Good  night,  Treplin." 

He  went  out,  laughing  as  a  man  laughs  when  he 
has  a  joke  on  the  other  fellow. 

"What  did  he  mean  by  that?"  asked  Campbell, 
puzzled. 

"I  don't  know,"  said  Toppy.  But  he  knew  now  that 
Tilly  had  told  Reivers  of  his  talk  with  Miss  Pearson 
the  first  evening  in  camp,  and  that  Reivers  had  saved 
it  up  against  him. 


THE    WAY   OF   THE   SNOW-BURNER 

IN  the  morning,  before  the  time  for  beginning  the 
day's  work,  Toppy  went  to  the  stockade ;  and  with 
one  of  his  English-speaking  Slavs  acting  an  inter- 
preter hunted  up  the  Torta  brothers  and  returned  to 
them  the  stolen  money  which  he  had  won  from  Reiv- 
ers. He  did  not  consider  it  necessary  to  go  into 
the  full  details  of  how  the  money  came  to  be  in 
his  possession,  or  attempt  to  explain  the  prejudice 
of  his  kind  against  keeping  stolen  goods. 

"Just  tell  them  that  Sheedy  gave  up  the  money,  and 
that  it's  theirs  again;  and  they'd  better  hide  it  in 
their  shoes  so  they  won't  lose  it,"  he  directed  the 
interpreter. 

Whereat  the  latter,  a  garrulous  young  man  who 
had  been  telling  the  camp  all  about  the  wonderful 
new  "bahss"  in  the  quarry — a  "bahss"  who  saved 
men's  lives — whenever  he  could  get  any  one  to  listen, 
broke  forth  into  a  wonderful  tale  of  how  the  money 
came  to  be  returned,  and  of  the  wonderful  "bahss" 
that  stood  before  them,  whom  they  should  all  take 
off  their  caps  to  and  worship. 

For  this  was  no  ordinary  man,  this  "bahss."  No, 
he  was  far  above  all  other  men.  It  was  an  honour 
to  work  under  him.  For  instance,  as  to  this  money: 
the  "bahss"  had  heard  how  the  red-haired  one — Sheedy 
— had  stolen,  how  he  oppressed  many  poor  men  and 
broke  the  noses  of  those  who  dared  to  stand  up  against 
.him. 

115 


n6  The  Snow-Burner 

The  "bahss"  had  the  interests  of  poor  men  at  heart. 
What  had  he  done  ?  He  had  struck  the  red-haired  one 
such  a  mighty  blow  in  the  stomach  that  the  red-haired 
one  had  flown  high  in  the  air,  and  alighting  on  the 
ground  had  been  moved  by  the  fear  of  death  and  dis- 
gorged the  stolen  money  that  his  conscience  might  be 
easy. 

The  story  of  how  Toppy  had  propped  up  the  roof 
of  the  stone  quarry,  and  saved  the  limbs  and  pos- 
sibly lives  of  his  workmen;  how  he  had  driven  the 
shotgun  guard  away,  and  how  he  had  smitten  Sheedy 
and  laid  him  low  before  all  men,  had  circulated 
through  the  camp  by  this  time.  Everybody  knew  that 
the  new  straw-boss,  though  fully  as  big  and  strong 
as  the  Snow-Burner  himself,  was  a  man  who  con- 
sidered the  men  under  him  as  something  more  than 
cattle  and  treated  them  accordingly.  True,  he  drove 
men  hard;  but  they  went  willingly  for  him,  whereas 
under  the  Snow-Burner  they  hurried  merely  because 
of  the  chill  fear  that  his  eyes  drove  into  their  hearts. 
In  short,  Toppy  was  just  such  a  boss  as  all  men  wished 
to  work  under — strong  but  just,  firm  but  not  in- 
human. 

Even  Sheedy  was  loyal  to  him. 

"He  laid  me  out,  all  right,"  he  grumbled  to  a  group 
of  "white  men,"  "but,  give  him  credit  for  it,  he  give 
me  a  chanct  to  get  up  me  guard.  There  won't  be 
any  breaking  yer  bones  when  yuh  ain't  lookin'  from 
him.  And  he  wouldn't  graft  on  yuh,  either.  He's 
right.  That  other ,  he — he  ain't  human." 

The  fact  that  he  had  been  humane  eonugh,  and 
daring  enough,  to  prop  up  the  roof  of  the  quarry 
had  no  effect  on  the  "white  men"  toward  developing 
a  respect  for  Toppy.  They  despised  the  Slavs  too 
thoroughly  to  be  conscious  of  any  brotherhood  with 
them.  But  that  he  could  put  Bill  Sheedy  away  with 


The  Way  of  the  Snow-Burner   117 

a  single  punch,  that  he  could  warn  Bill  to  put  up 
his  guard  and  then  knock  him  out  with  one  blow,  that 
was  something  to  wring  respect  even  from  that  hard- 
bitten crew. 

The  Snow-Burner  never  had  done  anything  like 
that.  He  had  laid  low  the  biggest  men  in  camp, 
but  it  was  usually  with  a  kick  or  with  a  blow  that 
was  entirely  unexpected.  The  Snow-Burner  never 
warned  any  body.  He  smiled,  threw  them  off  their 
guard,  then  smote  like  a  flash  of  lightning.  He  had 
whipped  half  a  dozen  men  at  once  in  a  stand-up  fight, 
but  they  had  been  poor  Bohunks,  fools  who  couldn't 
fight  unless  they  had  knives  in  their  hands.  But  to 
tell  a  seasoned  bruiser  like  Bill,  the  best  man  with 
his  fists  in  camp,  to  put  up  his  hands  and  then  beat 
him  to  the  knockout  punch — that  was  something  that 
not  even  the  Snow-Burner  had  attempted  to  do. 

That  was  taking  a  chance,  that  was ;  and  the  Snow- 
Burner  never  took  chances.  That  was  why  these 
cruel-fierce  "white  men,"  though  they  admired  and 
applauded  him  for  his  dominance  and  his  ruthlessness 
toward  the  Slavs,  hated  Reivers  with  a  hatred  that 
sprang  from  the  Northern  man's  instinctive  liking  for 
fair  play  in  a  fight.  They  began  naturally  to  com- 
pare him  with  Toppy,  who  had  played  fair  and  yet 
won.  And,  naturally,  because  such  were  the  stand- 
ards they  lived  and  died  by,  they  began  to  predict 
that  some  day  the  Snow-Burner  and  Toppy  must  fight, 
and  they  hoped  that  they  might  be  there  to  see  the 
battle. 

So  Toppy,  this  morning,  as  he  came  to  the  stock- 
ade, was  in  the  position  of  something  of  a  hero  to 
most  of  the  rough  men  who  slouched  past  him  in  the 
gloom  to  their  day's  work.  He  had  felt  it  before,  this 
hero-worship,  and  he  recognised  it  again.  Though  the 
surroundings  were  vastly  different  and  the  men  about 


Ii8  The  Snow-Burner 

him  of  a  strange  breeding,  the  sense  of  it  was  much 
the  same  as  that  he  had  known  at  school  when,  a 
sweater  thrown  across  his  huge  shoulders,  he  had 
ploughed  his  way  through  the  groups  of  worshipping 
undergrads  on  to  the  gridiron.  It  was  much  the 
same  here.  Men  looked  up  to  him.  They  nudged 
one  another  as  they  passed,  lowered  their  voices  when 
he  was  near,  studied  him  appraisingly.  Toppy  had 
felt  it  before,  too  often  to  be  mistaken ;  and  the  youth 
in  his  veins  responded  warmly.  The  respect  of  these 
men  was  a  harder  thing  to  win  than  the  other.  He 
thought  of  how  he  had  arrived  in  camp,  shaky  from 
Harvey  Duncombe's  champagne,  with  no  purpose  in 
life,  no  standing  among  men  who  were  doing  men's 
work.  Grimly  also  he  thought  of  how  Miss  Pearson, 
that  first  evening,  had  called  him  a  "nice  boy."  Would 
she  call  him  that  now,  he  wondered,  if  she  could  see 
how  these  rough,  tried  men  looked  up  to  him?  Would 
Reivers  treat  him  as  a  thing  to  experiment  with  after 
this? 

Thus  it  was  a  considerably  elated  Toppy,  though 
not  a  big-headed  one,  who  led  his  men  out  of  the 
stockade,  to  the  quarry — to  the  blow  that  Reivers 
had  waiting  for  him  there.  His  first  hint  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  was  when  the  foremost  men,  whis- 
tling and  tool-laden,  made  for  the  pit  in  the  first  grey 
light  of  day  and  paused  with  exclamations  and  curses 
at  its  very  mouth.  Others  crowded  around  them. 
They  looked  within.  Then,  with  fallen  jaws,  they 
turned  and  looked  to  the  "bahss"  for  an  explanation, 
for  help. 

Toppy  shouldered  his  way  through  the  press  and 
stepped  inside.  Then  he  saw  what  had  halted  his 
men  and  made  their  faces  turn  white.  To  the  last  stick 
the  shoring-timbers  had  been  removed  from  the  pit, 
and  the  roof,  threatening  and  sharp-edged,  hung  ready 


The  Way  of  the  Snow-Burner     119 

to  drop  on  the  workmen  below,  as  it  had  before  Toppy 
had  wrought  a  change. 

The  daylight  came  creeping  up  the  river  and  a  wind 
began  to  blow.  So  still  was  it  there  before  the  pit- 
mouth  that  Toppy  was  conscious  of  these  things  as 
he  stepped  outside.  The  men  were  standing  about 
with  their  wheelbarrows  and  tools  in  their  hands. 
They  looked  to  him.  His  was  the  mind  and  will  to 
determine  what  they  should  do.  They  depended  upon 
him;  they  trusted  him;  they  would  obey  his  word 
confidently. 

Toppy  felt  a  cold  sweat  breaking  out  on  his  fore- 
head. He  wanted  to  take  off  his  cap,  to  bare  his 
head  to  the  chill  morning  wind,  to  draw  his  hand 
across  his  eyes,  to  do  something  to  ease  himself  and 
gather  his  wits.  He  did  none  of  these  things.  The 
instinct  of  leadership  arose  strong  within  him.  He 
could  not  show  these  men  who  looked  up  to  him  as 
their  unquestioned  leader  that  he  had  been  dealt  a  blow 
that  had  taken  the  mastery  from  him. 

For  Toppy,  in  that  agonised  second  when  he  glanced 
up  at  the  unsupported  roof  and  knew  what  those  loose 
rocks  meant  to  any  men  working  beneath,  realised 
that  he  could  not  drive  his  men  in  there  to  certain 
injury  for  many,  possibly  death  for  some.  It  wasn't 
in  him.  He  wasn't  bred  that  way.  The  unfeeling 
brute  had  been  removed  from  his  big  body  and  spirit 
by  generations  of  men  and  women  who  had  played 
fair  with  inferiors,  and  by  a  lifetime  of  training  and* 
education. 

He  understood  plainly  the  significance  of  the  thing. 
Reivers  had  done  it;  no  one  else  would  have  dared. 
He  had  lifted  Toppy  up  to  a  tiny  elevation  above  the 
other  men  in  camp ;  now  he  was  knocking  him  down. 
It  was  another  way  for  Reivers  to  show  his  mastery. 
The  men  who  had  begun  to  look  up  to  Toppy  would 


I2O  The  Snow-Burner 

now  see  how  easily  the  Snow-Burner  could  show  him- 
self his  superior.  Miss  Pearson  would  hear  of  it. 
He  would  appear  in  the  light  of  a  "nice  boy"  whom 
the  Snow-Burner  had  played  with. 

These  thoughts  ran  through  Toppy's  mind  as  he 
stood  outside  the  pit,  with  his  white-faced  men  look- 
ing up  to  him,  and  groped  for  a  way  out  of  his  di- 
lemma. Within  he  was  sickened  with  the  sense  of  a 
catastrophe;  outside  he  remained  calm  and  confident 
to  the  eye.  He  stepped  farther  out,  to  where  he  could 
see  the  end  of  the  dam  where  he  had  secured  the  props 
for  the  roof.  It  was  as  he  had  expected ;  the  big  pile 
of  timbers  that  had  lain  there  was  gone  to  the  last 
stick.  He  turned  slowly  back,  and  then  in  the  grey 
light  of  coming  day  he  looked  into  the  playfully  smil- 
ing face  of  Reivers,  who  had  emerged,  it  seemed, 
from  nowhere. 

"Looking  for  your  humanitarian  props,  Treplin?" 
laughed  the  Snow-Burner.  "Oh,  they're  gone ;  they're 
valuable;  they  served  a  purpose  which  nothing  else 
would  fill — quite  so  conveniently.  I  used  them  for  a 
corduroy  road  in  the  swamp.  Between  men  and  tim- 
bers, Treplin,  always  save  your  timbers."  His  man- 
ner changed  like  a  flash  to  one  hurried  and  business- 
like. "What're  you  waiting  for?"  he  snarled.  "Why 
don't  you  get  'em  in  there  ?  Mean  to  say  you're  wast- 
ing company  money  because  one  of  these  cattle  might 
get  a  broken  back?" 

They  looked  each  other  full  in  the  eyes,  but  Toppy 
knew  that  for  the  time  being  Reivers  had  the  whip- 
hand. 

"I  mean  to  say  just  that,"  he  said  evenly.  "I'm  not 
sending  any  men  in  there  until  I  get  that  roof  propped 
up  again." 

"Bah !"    Reivers'  disgust  was  genuine.    "I  thought 


The  Way  of  the  Snow-Burner     121 

you  were  a  man;  I  find  you're  a  suit  of  clothes  full 
of  emotions,  like  all  the  rest !" 

He  seemed  to  drive  away  his  anger  by  sheer  will- 
force  and  bring  the  cold,  sneering  smile  back  to  his 
lips. 

"So  we're  up  against  a  situation  that's  too  strong 
for  us,  are  we,  Mr.  Humanitarian?"  he  laughed.  "In 
spite  of  our  developed  intelligence,  we  lay  down  cold 
in  the  face  of  a  little  proposition  like  this!  Good- 
bye to  our  dreams  of  learning  how  to  handle  men! 
It  isn't  in  us  to  do  it ;  we're  a  weak  sister." 

His  bantering  mood  fled  with  the  swiftness  of  all 
his  changes.  Toppy  and  his  aspirations  as  a  leader 
— that  was  another  incident  of  the  day's  work  that 
was  over  and  done  with. 

"Go  back  to  the  shop,  to  Scotty,  Treplin,"  he  said 
quietly.  "You're  not  responsible  for  your  limita- 
tions. Scotty  says  you  make  a  pretty  fair  helper. 
Be  consoled.  He's  waiting  for  you." 

He  turned  instantly  toward  the  men.  Toppy,  with 
the  hot  blood  rushing  in  his  throat,  but  helpless  as 
he  was,  swung  away  from  the  pit  without  a  word. 
As  he  did  so  he  saw  that  the  hawk-faced  shotgun 
guard  had  appeared  and  taken  his  position  on  the  lit- 
tle rise  where  his  gun  bore  slantwise  on  the  huddled 
men  before  the  pit,  and  he  hurried  to  get  out  of 
sight  of  the  scene.  His  tongue  was  dry  and  his  tem- 
ples throbbing  with  rage,  but  the  cool  section  of  his 
mind  urged  him  away  from  the  pit  in  silence. 

Between  clenched  teeth  he  cursed  his  injured  ankle. 
It  was  the  ankle  that  made  him  accept  without  return 
the  shame  which  Reivers  had  put  upon  him.  The 
canny  sense  within  him  continued  to  whisper  that 
until  the  ankle  was  sound  he  must  bide  his  time. 
Reivers  and  he  were  too  nearly  a  pair  to  give  him 


122  The  Snow-Burner 

the  slightest  chance  for  success  if  he  essayed  defiance 
at  even  the  slightest  disadvantage. 

Choking  back  as  well  as  he  could  the  anger  that 
welled  up  within  him,  he  made  his  way  swiftly  to 
the  blacksmith-shop.  Campbell,  bending  over  the 
anvil,  greeted  Toppy  cheerily  as  he  heard  the  heavy 
tread  behind  him. 

"The  Snow-Burner  promised  he'd  send  you  here, 

and '  Losh,  mon !"  he  gasped  as  he  turned  around 

and  saw  Toppy's  face.  "What's  come  o'er  ye?  You 
look  like  you're  ripe  for  murder." 

"There'll  probably  be  murder  done  in  this  camp  be- 
fore the  day's  over,  but  I  won't  do  it,"  replied  Toppy. 

As  he  threw  off  his  mackinaw  preparatory  to  start- 
ing work  he  snapped  out  the  story  of  the  situation  at 
the  quarry.  Campbell,  leaning  on  his  hammer,  grew 
grim  of  lips  and  eyes  as  he  listened. 

"Aye;  I  thought  at  the  time  it  were  better  for  you 
had  ye  lost  at  poker  last  night,"  he  said  slowly.  "He's 
taking  revenge.  But  they  will  put  out  his  light  for 
him.  Human  flesh  and  blood  won't  stand  it.  The 

Snow-Burner  goes  too  far.  He'll Hark !  Good 

Heavens !  Hear  that !" 

For  a  moment  they  stood  near  the  open  doorway 
of  the  shop  staring  at  one  another  in  horrified,  mute 
questioning.  The  crisp  stillness  of  the  morning  rang 
and  echoed  with  the  sharp  roar  of  a  shotgun.  The 
sound  came  from  the  direction  of  the  quarry.  Across 
the  street  they  heard  the  door  of  the  office-building 
open  sharply.  The  girl,  without  hat  or  coat,  her  light 
hair  flying  about  her  head,  came  running  like  a  deer 
to  the  door  of  the  shop. 

"Mr.  Campbell,  Mr.  Campbell!"  she  called  trem- 
blingly, peering  inside.  Then  she  saw  Toppy. 

"Oh !"  she  gasped.    She  started  back  a  little.    There 


The  Way  of  the  Snow-Burner     123 

were  surprise  and  relief  in  her  exclamation,  in  her 
eyes,  in  her  movement. 

"I  was  afraid — I  thought  maybe "  She  drew 

away  from  the  door  in  confusion.  "I  only  wanted 
to  know — to  know — what  that  noise  was." 

But  Toppy  had  stepped  outside  the  shop  and  fol- 
lowed closely  after  her. 

"What  did  you  think  it  was,  Miss  Pearson?"  he 
asked.  "What  were  you  afraid  of  when  you  heard 
that  shot?  That  something  had  happened  between 
Reivers  and  myself?" 

"I — I  meant  to  warn  you,"  she  said,  greatly  flus- 
tered. "Tilly  told  me  all  about — a  lot  of  things  last 
night.  She  told  me  that  she  had  told  Reivers  all  she 
heard  you  say  to  me  that  first  night  here,  and  that 
he — Mr.  Reivers,  she  said,  was  your  enemy,  and  that 
he  would — would  surely  hurt  you." 

"Yes?" 

"I  didn't  want  to  see  you  get  hurt,  because  I  felt 
it  was  because  of  me  that  you  came  here.  I — I  don't 
want  any  one  hurt  because  of  me." 

"That's  all?"  he  asked. 

She  looked  surprised. 

"Why,  yes." 

Toppy  nodded  curtly. 

"Then  Tilly  told  you  that  Mr.  Reivers  had  a  habit 
of  hurting  people?" 

At  this  the  red  in  her  cheeks  rose  to  a  flush.  Her 
blue  eyes  looked  at  him  waveringly,  then  dropped  to 
the  ground. 

"It  isn't  true!    It  can't  be  true!"  she  stammered. 

"Did  Tilly  tell  you — about  herself?"  he  persisted 
mercilessly. 

The  next  instant  he  wished  the  words  unsaid,  for 
she  shrank  as  if  he  had  struck  her.  She  looked  very 


124  The  Snow-Burner 

small  just  then.  Her  proud,  self-reliant  bearing1  was 
gone.  She  was  very  much  all  alone. 

"Yes."  The  word  was  scarcely  more  than  a  whis- 
per and  she  did  nor  look  up.  "But  it — it  can  not  be 
so ;  I  know  it  can"  not." 

Toppy  was  no  student  of  feminine  psychology,  but 
he  saw  plainly  that  just  then  she  was  a  woman  who 
did  not  wish  to  believe,  therefore  would  not  believe, 
anything  ill  of  the  man  who  had  fascinated  her.  He 
saw  that  Reivers  had  fascinated  her;  that  in  spite 
of  herself  she  was  drawn  toward  him,  dominated  by 
him.  Her  mind  told  her  that  what  she  had  heard  of 
the  man  was  true,  but  her  heart  refused  to  let  her 
believe.  Toppy  saw  that  she  was  very  unhappy  and 
troubled,  and  unselfishly  he  forgot  himself  and  his 
enmity  toward  Reivers  in  a  desire  to  help  her. 

"Miss  Pearson! — Miss  Pearson!"  he  cried  eagerly. 
"Is  there  anything  I  can  do  for  you — anything  in 
the  world?" 

"Yes,"  she  said  slowly.  "Tell  me  that  it  isn't  so 
— what  Mr.  Campbell  and  Tilly  have  said  about  Mr. 
Reivers." 

"I "  He  was  about  to  say  that  he  could  do 

nothing  of  the  sort,  but  something  made  him  halt. 
"Has  Reivers  broken  his  word  to  you — about  leaving 
you  alone?" 

"No,  no!  He's — he's  left  me  alone.  He's  scarcely 
spoken  to  me  half  a  dozen  times." 

Toppy  looked  down  at  her  for  several  seconds. 

"But  you've  begun  to  care  for  Reivers,  haven't 
you?"  he  said. 

The  girl  looked  up  at  him  uncertainly. 

"I  don't  know.  Oh,  I  don't  know!  I  don't  seem 
to  have  any  will  of  my  own  toward  him.  I  seem 
to  see  him  as  a  different  man.  I  know  I  shouldn't; 
but  I  can't  help  it,  I  can  help  it !  He — he  looks  at  me, 


The  Way  of  the  Snow-Burner     125 

and  I  feel  as  if — as  if — "  her  voice  died  down  to  a 
horrified  whisper — "I  were  nothing,  and  his  wishes 
were  the  only  things  in  the  world." 

Toppy  bowed  his  head. 

"Then  I  guess  there's  nothing  for  me  to  say." 

"Don't!"  she  cried,  stretching  out  her  hand  to  re- 
strain him  as  he  turned  away.  "Don't  leave  me — 
like  that.  You're  so  rude  to  me  lately.  I  feel  so 
terribly  alone  when  you — aren't  nice  to  me." 

"What  difference  can  I  make?"  he  said  bitterly. 
"I'm  not  Reivers." 

She  looked  up  at  him  again. 

"Oh!"  she  cried  suddenly.  "Won't  you  help  me, 
Mr.  Treplin?  Can't  you  help  me?" 

"Help  you?"  gasped  Toppy.  "May  I?  Can  I? 
What  can  I  do?" 

He  leaned  toward  her  eagerly. 

"What  can  I  do"  he  repeated. 

"Oh,  I  don't  know!"  she  murmured  in  anguish. 
"But  if  you — if  you  leave  me — Oh !  What  was  that  ?" 

From  the  direction  of  the  quarry  had  come  a  great 
scream  of  terror,  as  if  many  men  suddenly  had  cried 
out  in  fear  of  their  lives.  Then,  almost  ere  the  echoes 
had  died  away,  came  another  sound,  of  more  sinister 
significance  to  Toppy.  There  was  a  sudden  low  rum- 
ble; the  earth  under  their  feet  trembled;  then  the 
noise  of  a  crash  and  a  thud.  Then  it  was  still  again. 

A  chill  seemed  to  pass  over  the  entire  camp.  Men 
began  running  toward  the  quarry  with  swift  steps, 
their  faces  showing  that  they  dreaded  what  they  ex- 
pected to  see.  Toppy  and  Campbell  looked  silently 
at  one  another. 

"Go  irtfo  the  office,"  he  said  quietly  to  the  girl. 
"Come  on,  Scotty;  that  roof's  caved  in."  And  with- 
out another  word  they  ran  swiftly  toward  the  quarry. 


126  The  Snow-Burner 

As  they  reached  the  river-bank  they  heard  Reivers' 
voice  quietly  issuing  orders. 

"You  guards  pick  those  two  fellows  up  and  carry 
them  to  their  bunks.  You  scum  that's  left,  pick  up 
your  tools  and  dig  into  that  fallen  rock.  Hustle  now ! 
Get  right  back  to  work!" 

The  first  thing  that  Toppy  saw  as  he  turned  the 
shoulder  of  the  ledge  was  that  two  of  the  older 
Slavs  were  lying  groaning  on  the  ground  to  one  side 
of  where  the  pit  mouth  had  been.  Then  he  saw  what 
was  left  of  the  pit.  The  entire  side  of  the  ledge  had 
caved  down,  and  where  the  pit  had  been  was  only  a 
jumbled  pile  of  jagged  rock.  Reivers  stood  in  his 
old  position  before  the  pile.  The  hawk-nosed  shot- 
gun guard  stood  up  on  the  little  rise,  his  weapon 
ready.  The  remaining  workmen  were  huddled  together 
before  the  pile  of  fallen  stone.  The  terror  in  their 
faces  was  unspeakable.  They  were  like  lost,  driven 
cattle  facing  the  butcher's  hammer. 

"Grab  those  tools  there!  Get  at  it!  The  rock's 
right  in  front  of  you  now  f  Get  busy !" 

Reivers'  voice  in  no  way  admitted  that  anything 
startling  had  occurred.  He  glared  at  the  cowering  men, 
and  in  terror  they  began  hastily  to  resume  their  inter- 
rupted work,  filling  their  wheelbarrows  from  the  pile 
of  stone  before  them.  Reivers  turned  toward  Toppy 
who  had  bent  over  the  injured  men.  "Hello,  Dr. 
Treplin,"  he  laughed  lightly.  "A  couple  of  jobs  there 
for  you  to  experiment  on.  Get  'em  out  of  here — to 
their  bunks;  they're  in  the  way.  Patch  'em  up  if  you 
can.  If  you  can't  they're  not  much  loss,  anyhow. 
They're  rather  older  than  I  like  'em." 

The  last  words  came  carelessly  over  his  shoulder  as 
he  turned  back  toward  the  men  who  were  toiling  at 
the  rock.  A  string  of  curses  rolled  coldly  from  his  lips. 
They  leaped  to  obey  him.  He  smiled  contemptuously. 


The  Way  of  the  Snow-Burner     127 

Toppy  was  relieved  to  see  that  the  two  men  on  the 
ground  were  apparently  not  fatally  hurt.  With  the  aid 
of  Campbell  and  two  guards  who  had  run  up  he 
hurried  to  have  the  men  placed  in  their  bunks  in  the 
stockade.  One  of  the  guards  produced  a  surgeon's 
kit.  Toppy  rolled  up  his  sleeves.  It  wasn't  as  bad  as 
he  had  feared  it  would  be,  apparently;  only  two  in- 
jured, where  he  had  looked  for  some  surely  to  be  killed. 
One  of  the  men  was  growing  faint  from  loss  of  blood 
from  a  wound  in  his  right  leg.  Toppy,  turning  his 
attention  to  him  first,  swiftly  slit  open  the  trousers- 
leg  and  bared  the  injured  limb. 

"What — what  the  devil?"  he  cried  aghast.  The 
calf  of  the  man's  leg  was  half  torn  away,  and  from 
knee  to  ankle  the  flesh  was  sprinkled  with  buckshot- 
holes. 

"They  shot  you  ?"  he  asked  as  he  fashioned  a  tour- 
niquet. 

"Yes,  bahass.  Snow-Burner  say,  'Get  t'  'ell  in 
there/  Rocks  fall ;  we  no  go  in.  Snow-Burner  hold 
up  hand.  Man  with  gun  shoot.  I  fall.  Other  men 
go  in.  Pretty  soon  rocks  fall.  Other  men  come  out. 
He  shoot  me.  I  no  do  anything;  he  shoot  me." 

Toppy  choked  back  the  curse  that  rose  to  his  lips, 
dressed  the  man's  wound  to  the  best  of  his  slight  abil- 
ity, and  turned  to  the  other,  who  had  been  caught  in 
the  cave-in  of  the  quarry-roof.  His  right  leg  and  arm 
were  broken,  and  the  side  was  crushed  in  a  way  that 
suggested  broken  ribs.  Toppy  filled  a  hypodermic 
syringe  and  went  to  work  to  make  the  two  as  comfort- 
able as  he  knew  how.  That  was  all  he  could  pretend 
to  do/  Yet  when  he  left  the  stockade  it  was  with  a 
feeling  of  relief  that  he  looked  back  over  the  morn- 
ing. The  worst  had  happened ;  the  danger  to  the  men 
was  over;  and,  so  far  as  Toppy  knew,  the  conse- 
quences were  represented  in  the  two  men  whom  he  had 


128  The  Snow-Burner 

treated  and  who,  so  far  as  he  could  see,  were  sure  to 
live.  It  hadn't  turned  out  as  badly  as  he  was  afraid 
it  would. 

As  he  passed  the  carpenter-shop  he  saw  the  "wood- 
butcher"  sawing  two  boards  to  make  a  cover  for  a 
long,  narrow  box.  Toppy  looked  at  him  idly,  trying 
to  think  of  what  such  a  box  could  be  used  for  around 
the  camp.  It  was  too  narrow  for  its  length  to  be  of 
ordinary  use  as  a  box. 

"What  are  you  making  there?"  asked  Toppy  care- 
lessly. 

The  "wood-butcher"  looked  up  from  his  sawing. 

"Didn't  you  ever  see  a  logging-camp  coffin?"  he 
asked.  "We  always  keep  a  few  ready.  This  one  is 
for  that  Bohunk  that's  down  there  under  the  rocks." 

"Under  the  rocks !"  cried  Toppy.  "You  don't  mean 
to  say  there  was  anybody  under  that  cave-in !" 

"Is  yet,"  was  the  laconic  reply.  "One  of  'em  was* 
caught  'way  inside.  Whole  roof  on  top  of  him.  Won't 
find  him  till  the  pit's  emptied." 

Toppy  struggled  a  moment  to  speak  quietly. 

"Which  one  was  it,  do  you  know  ?"  he  asked. 

"Oh,  it  was  that  old  brown-complected  fellow," 
said  the  carpenter.  "That  old  Bohunk  guy  with  the 
big  rings  in  his  ears." 

Reivers  came  to  the  shop  at  his  customary  time  in 
the  evening,  nothing  in  his  manner  containing  a  hint 
that  anything  unusual  had  happened  during  the  day. 
He  found  a  solemn  and  silent  pair,  for  Campbell  had 
sought  relief  from  the  day's  tragedy  in  his  customary 
manner  and  sat  in  the  light  of  the  student-lamp  steadily 
reading  his  Bible,  while  Toppy,  in  a  dark  corner,  sat 
with  his  great  shoulders  hunched  forward,  his  folded 
hands  before  him,  and  stared  at  the  floor.  Reivers 
paused  in  the  doorway,  his  cold  smile  broadening  as 
he  surveyed  the  pair. 


The  Way  of  the  Snow-Burner     129 

"Poker  to-night — doctor?"  he  said  softly,  and  the 
slur  in  his  tones  was  like  blasphemy  toward  all  that 
men  hold  sacred. 

"No,  by  -    — ,  no !"  growled  Toppy. 

Laughing  lightly,  Reivers  closed  the  door  and  came 
across  the  room. 

"What?  Aren't  you  going  to  give  me  my  revenge 
— doctor?"  The  manner  in  which  he  accented  "doc- 
tor" was  worse  than  an  open  insult. 

Old  Campbell  peered  over  his  thick  glasses. 

"The  sword  of  judgment  is  sharpening  for  you, 
Mr.  Reivers,"  he  said  solemnly.  "You  ha'  this  day 
sealed  your  own  doom.  A  life  for  a  life;  and  you 
have  taken  a  life  to-day  unnecessarily.  It  is  the  holy 
law ;  you  will  pay.  It  is  so  written." 

"Yes,  yes,  yes!"  laughed  Reivers  in  great  amuse- 
ment. "But  you've  said  that  so  many  times  before 
in  just  that  same  way,  Scotty.  Can't  you  evolve  a 
new  idea?  Or  at  least  sing  it  in  a  different  key?" 

The  old  Scot  looked  at  him  without  wavering  or 
changing  his  expression. 

"You  are  the  smartest  man  I  have  ever  known,  Mr. 
Reivers,  and  the  domdest  fool,"  he  said  in  the  same 
tone.  "Do  you  fancy  yourself  more  than  mortal? 
Losh,  man !  A  knife  in  the  bowels,  or  a  bullet  or  ax 
in  the  head  will  as  readily  make  you  a  bit  of  poor  clay 
as  you've  this  day  made  yon  poor  old  Bohunk." 

Reivers  listened  courteously  to  the  end,  waiting 
even  a  moment  to  be  sure  that  Campbell  had  had  his 
say. 

"And  you — doctor?"  he  said  turning  to  Toppy. 
"What  melancholy  thoughts  have  you  to  utter?" 

Toppy  said  nothing. 

"Oh,  come,  Treplin !"  said  Reivers  lightly.  "Surely 
you're  not  letting  a  little  thing  like  that  quarry-incident 
give  you  a  bad  evening?  Where's  your  philosophy, 


130  The  Snow-Burner 

man?  Consider  the  thing  intelligently  instead  of 
sentimentally.  There  was  so  much  rock  to  go  into  that 
dam  in  a  day — and  incidentally  to-day  finished  the 
job.  That  was  a  useful,  necessary  work. 

"For  that  old  man  to  continue  in  this  life  was  not 
useful  or  necessary.  He  was  far  down  in  the  order 
of  human  development;  centuries  below  you  and  me. 
Do  you  think  it  made  the  slightest  difference  whether 
he  returned  to  the  old  cosmic  mud  whence  he  came, 
and  from  which  he  had  not  come  far,  in  to-day's 
little  cave-in,  or  in  a  dirty  bed,  say  ten  years  from 
now? 

"He  accomplished  a  tiny  speck  of  useful  work, 
through  my  direction.  He  has  gone,  as  the  wood  will 
soon  be  gone  that  is  heating  that  stove.  There  was  no 
spirit  there;  only  a  body  that  has  ceased  to  stand  up- 
right. And  you  grow  moody  over  it!  Well,  well! 
I'm  more  and  more  disappointed  in  you — doctor." 

Toppy  said  nothing.     He  was  biding  his  time. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

THE   SCREWS   TIGHTEN 

THAT  night  came  the  heavy  snow  for  which  the 
loggers  had  been  waiting,  and  a  rush  of  activity 
followed  in  Hell  Camp.  The  logs  which  had  lain  in 
the  woods  for  want  of  sleighing  now  were  accessible. 
Following  the  snow  came  hard,  freezing  nights,  and 
the  main  ice-roads  which  Reivers  had  driven  into  the 
timber  for  miles  became  solid  beds  of  ice  over  which 
a  team  could  haul  log  loads  to  the  extent  of  a  carload 
weight.  It  was  ideal  logging-weather,  and  the  big 
camp  began  to  hum. 

The  mastery  of  Reivers  once  more  showed  itself  in 
the  way  in  which  he  drove  his  great  crew  at  top  speed 
and  beyond.  The  feeling  against  him  on  the  part  of 
the  men  had  risen  to  silent,  tight-lipped  heat  as  the 
news  went  around  of  how  the  old  Magyar  with  the 
ear-rings  had  met  his  death.  Each  man  in  camp  knew 
that  he  might  have  been  in  the  old  man's  shoes ;  each 
knew  that  Reivers'  anger  might  fall  on  him  next.  In 
the  total  of  a  hundred  and  fifty  men  in  camp  there  was 
probably  not  one  who  did  not  curse  Reivers  and  rage 
against  his  rule,  and  there  were  few  who,  if  the  op- 
portunity had  offered,  would  not  cheerfully  have  taken  „ 
his  life. 

The  feeling  against  him  had  unified  itself.  Before, 
the  men  had  been  split  into  various  groups  on  the 
subject  of  the  boss.  They  remained  divided  now,  but 
on  one  thing  they  were  unanimous :  the  Snow-Burner 


132  The  Snow-Burner 

had  gone  too  far  to  bear.  Men  sat  on  the  bunk-edges 
in  the  stockade  and  cursed  as  they  thought  of  the 
boss  and  the  shotgun  guards  that  rendered  them  help- 
less. Reivers  permitted  no  firearms  of  any  kind  in 
camp  save  those  that  were  carried  by  his  gunmen. 

The  gunmen  when  not  on  guard  kept  to  their  quar- 
ters, in  the  building  just  outside  of  the  stockade  gate, 
where  Reivers  also  lived.  When  armed,  they  were 
ordered  to  permit  no  man  to  approach  nearer  than 
ten  feet  to  them — this  to  prevent  a  possible  rushing 
and  wresting  the  weapons  from  their  hands.  So 
long  as  the  guards  were  there  in  possession  of  their 
shotguns  the  men  knew  that  they  were  helpless.  Driven 
to  desperation  now,  they  prayed  for  the  chance  to  get 
those  guns  into  their  own  hands.  After  that  they 
promised  themselves  that  the  score  of  brutality  would 
be  made  even. 

Then  came  the  time  for  rush  work,  and  under 
the  lash  of  Reivers'  will  the  outraged  men,  carried 
off  their  feet,  were  driven  with  a  ferocity  that  told 
how  completely  Reivers  ignored  the  spirit  of  revolt 
which  he  knew  was  fomenting  against  him.  He  quit 
playing  with  them,  as  he  expressed  it;  he  began  to 
drive. 

Long  before  daylight  began  to  grey  the  sky  above 
the  eastern  timber-line  the  men  were  out  at  their  posts, 
waiting  for  sufficient  light  to  begin  the  day's  work. 
Once  the  work  began  it  went  ahead  with  a  fury  that 
seemed  to  carry  all  men  with  it.  Reivers  was  every- 
where that  a  man  dared  to  pause  for  a  moment  to 
shirk  his  job.  He  used  his  hands  now,  for  a  broken 
leg  or  rib  laid  a  man  up,  and  he  had  use  for  the  pres- 
ent for  every  man  he  could  muster.  He  scarcely 
looked  at  the  men  he  hit,  breaking  their  faces  with 
a  sudden,  treacherous  blow,  cursing  them  coldly  until, 
despite  their  injuries,  they  leaped  at  their  work,  then 


The  Screws  Tighten  133 

whirling  away  to  fall  upon  some  other  luckless  one 
elsewhere. 

He  was  a  fury,  a  merciless  elemental  force,  with 
no  consideration  for  the  strength  and  endurance  of 
men;  sparing  no  one  any  more  than  he  spared  him- 
self, and  rushing  his  whole  force  along  at  top  speed 
by  sheer  power  of  the  spirit  of  leadership  that  pos- 
sessed him.  Men  ceased  for  the  time  being  to  growl 
and  pray  that  the  Snow-Burner  would  get  his  just 
due.  They  had  no  thought  nor  energies  for  anything 
but  keeping  pace  in  the  whirlwind  rush  of  work 
through  which  the  Snow-Burner  drove  them. 

In  the  blacksmith-shop  the  same  condition  pre- 
vailed as  elsewhere  in  the  camp.  The  extra  hurry 
of  the  work  in  the  timber  meant  extra  accidents, 
which  meant  breakages.  There  were  chain-links  to 
be  forged  and  fitted  to  broken  chains;  sharp  two-inch 
calks  to  be  driven  into  the  horses'  shoes,  peaveys  and 
cant-hooks  to  be  repaired.  Besides  the  regular  black- 
smith-work of  the  camp,  which  was  quite  sufficient  to 
keep  Campbell  and  one  helper  comfortably  employed, 
there  was  now  added  each  day  a  bulk  of  extra  work 
due  to  the  strair.  under  which  men,  horses  and  tools 
were  working. 

Old  Campbell,  grimly  resolute  that  Reivers  should 
have  no  excuse  to  fall  foul  of  him,  drove  himself 
and  his  helper  at  a  speed  second  only  to  that  with 
which  he  had  so  roughly  greeted  Toppy  to  the  rough 
world  of  bodily  labour.  But  the  Toppy  who  now  ham-, 
mered  and  toiled  at  Campbell's  side  was  a  different 
man  from  the  champagne-softened  youth  who  had 
come  into  camp  a  little  while  before.  The  puffiness 
was  gone  from  under  his  eyes,  the  looseness  from  his 
lips  and  the  fat  from  around  the  middle.  Through 
his  veins  the  blood  now  surged  with  no  taint  of  cum- 


134  The  Snow-Burner 

bering  poison;  his  tissues  tingled  with  life  and  healthi- 
ness. 

Day  by  day  he  did  his  share  and  more  in  the  shop- 
work,  and  instead  of  the  old  feeling  of  fatigue,  which 
before  had  followed  any  prolonged  exertion,  felt  his 
muscles  spring  with  hardness  and  new  life  at  each 
demand  made  upon  them.  The  old  joy  of  a  strong 
man  in  his  strength  came  back  in  him.  Stripped  to 
the  waist  he  stretched  himself  and  filled  his  great  lungs 
with  deep  drafts,  his  arms  like  beams  stretched  out 
and  above  his  head.  Under  the  clean  skin,  rosy  and 
moist  from  exertion,  the  muscles  bunched  and  relaxed, 
tautened  instantly  to  iron  hardness  or  rippled  softly 
as  they  were  called  upon,  in  the  perfect  co-ordina- 
tion which  results  in  great  athletes.  Old  Campbell, 
similarly  stripped,  stared  at  the  marvel  of  a  giant's 
perfect  torso,  beside  which  his  own  work-wrought 
body  was  ugly  in  its  unequal  development. 

"Losh,  man!  But  you're  full  grown!"  he  growled 
in  admiration.  "I've  seen  but  one  man  who  could 
strip  anywhere  near  to  you." 

"Who  was  he?"  asked  Toppy. 

"The  Snow-Burner." 

Day  by  day  Toppy  hammered  and  laboured  at 
Campbell's  side,  holding  his  end  up  against  the  grim 
old  smith,  and  day  by  day  he  felt  his  muscles  growing 
toward  that  iron  condition  in  which  there  is  no  tiring. 
Presently,  to  Scotty's  vexation,  he  was  doing  more 
than  his  share,  ending  the  day  with  a  laugh  and  wak- 
ing up  in  the  morning  as  fresh  as  if  he  had  not  taxed 
his  energies  the  day  before. 

At  first  he  continued  to  favour  his  injured  ankle, 
lest  a  sudden  strain  delay  its  recovery.  Each  night 
he  massaged  and  bandaged  it  scientifically.  Later  on, 
when  he  felt  that  it  was  stronger,  he  began  to  exercise 
it,  slowly  raising  and  lowering  himself  on  the  balls 


The  Screws  Tighten  135 

of  his  feet.  In  a  couple  of  weeks  the  old  spring  and 
strength  had  largely  come  back,  and  Campbell  snorted 
in  disgust  at  the  antics  indulged  in  by  his  helper  when 
the  day's  work  was  done. 

"Skipping  a  rope  one,  twa  hundred  times!  What 
brand  o'  silliness  do  ye  call  that  ?"  he  grumbled.  "Ha' 
ye  nothing  useful  to  do  wi'  them  long  legs  of  yourn, 
that  you  have  to  make  a  jumping- jack  out  o'  your- 
self?" 

At  which  Toppy  smiled  grimly  and  continued  his 
training. 

The  rush  of  work  had  its  compensations.  Reivers, 
driving  his  force  like  mad,  had  no  time  to  waste  either 
in  bantering  Toppy  and  Campbell  in  the  evening  or  in 
paying  attention  to  Miss  Pearson.  All  the  power  that 
was  in  the  Snow-Burner  was  concentrated  upon  the 
problem  of  getting  out  every  stick  of  timber  possible 
while  the  favourable  weather  continued.  He  spent 
most  of  his  time  in  the  timber  up-river  where  the 
heaviest  logging  was  going  on. 

By  day  he  raged  in  the  thick  of  the  men  with  only 
one  thought  or  aim — to  get  out  the  logs  as  fast  as 
human  and  horse-power  could  do  it.  At  night  the 
road-crews,  repairing  with  pick  and  shovel  and  sprink- 
ling-tanks the  wear  and  tear  of  the  day's  hauling, 
worked  under  Reivers'  compelling  eyes.  All  night 
long  the  sprinkling-tanks  went  up  and  down  the  ice- 
coated  roads,  and  the  drivers,  freezing  on  the  seats, 
were  afraid  to  stop  or  nod,  not  knowing  when  the 
Snow-Burner  might  step  out  from  the  shadows  and 
catch  them  in  the  act. 

The  number  of  accidents,  always  too  plentiful  in 
logging-camps,  multiplied,  but  Reivers  permitted  noth- 
ing short  of  broken  bones  to  send  a  man  to  his  bunk. 
Toppy,  besides  his  work  in  the  shop,  cared  as  best  he 
could  for  the  disabled.  Reivers  had  no  time  to  waste 


136  The  Snow-Burner 

that  way  now.  The  two  men  hurt  at  the  quarry  were 
recovering  rapidly.  One  day  a  tall,  lean  "white  man," 
a  Yankee  top-loader,  came  hobbling-  out  of  the  woods 
with  his  foot  dangling  at  the  ankle,  and  mumbling 
curses  through  a  smashed  jaw. 

"How  did  you  get  this  ?"  asked  Toppy,  as  he  dressed 
the  cruelly  crushed  foot. 

"Pinched  between  two  logs,"  mumbled  the  man. 
"They  let  one  come  down  the  skids  when  I  wasn't 
lookin'.  No  fault  of  mine ;  I  didn't  have  time  to  jump. 
And  then,  when  I'm  standin'  there  leanin'  against  a 
tree,  that  devil  Reivers  comes  up  and  hands  me  this." 
He  pointed  to  his  cracked  jaw.  "He'll  teach  me  to  get 
myself  hurt,  he  says.  — • — !  That  ain't  no  man ;  he's 

a  devil!  By  !  I  know  what  I'd  ruther  have 

than  the  wages  comin'  to  me,  and  that's  a  rifle  with  one 
good  cartridge  "in  it  and  that standin'  afore  me." 

Yet  that  evening,  when  Reivers  came  to  the  top- 
loader's  bunk  and  demanded  how  long  he  expected  to 
lie  there  eating  his  head  off,  the  man  cringed  and  whim- 
pered that  he  would  be  back  on  the  job  as  soon  as  his 
foot  was  fit  to  stand  on.  In  Reivers'  presence  the 
men  were  afraid  to  call  their  thoughts  their  own,  but 
behind  his  back  the  mumblings  and  grumblings  of 
hatred  were  growing  to  a  volume  which  inevitably  soon 
must  break  out  in  the  hell-yelp  of  a  mob  ripe  for 
murder. 

Reivers  knew  it  better  than  any  man  in  camp.  To 
indicate  how  it  affected  him  he  turned  the  screws  on 
tighter  than  ever.  Once,  at  least,  "they  had  him  dead," 
as  they  admitted,  when  he  stood  ankle-deep  in  the 
river  with  the  saw-logs  thundering  over  the  rollways 
to  the  brink  of  the  bluff  above  his  head.  One  cunning 
twist  of  a  peavey  would  have  sent  a  dozen  logs  tum- 
bling over  the  brink  on  his  head.  Reivers  sensed  his 
danger  and  looked  up.  He  smiled.  Then  he  turned 


The  Screws  Tighten  137 

and  deliberately  stood  with  his  back  to  the  men.  And 
no  man  dared  to  give  his  peavey  that  one  cunning  twist. 

During  these  strenuous  days  Toppy  tried  in  vain  to 
muster  up  sufficient  courage  to  reopen  the  conversation 
with  Miss  Pearson  which  had  been  so  suddenly  in- 
terrupted by  the  cave-in  at  the  quarry.  He  saw  her 
every  day.  She  had  changed  greatly  from  the  high- 
spirited,  self-reliant  girl  who  had  stood  on  the  steps 
of  the  hotel  back  at  Rail  Head  and  told  the  whole 
world  by  her  manner  that  she  was  accustomed  and  able 
to  take  care  of  herself.  A  stronger  will  than  hers 
had  entered  her  scheme  of  life. 

Although  she  knew  now  that  Reivers  had  tricked 
her  into  coming  to  Hell  Camp  because  he  was  con- 
fident of  winning  her,  the  knowledge  made  no  differ- 
ence. The  will  of  the  man  dominated  and  fascinated 
her.  She  feared  him,  yet  she  was  drawn  toward  him 
despite  her  struggles.  She  fought  hard  against  the  in- 
clination to  yield  to  the  stronger  will,  to  let  her  feel- 
ings make  her  his  willing  slave,  as  she  knew  he  wished. 
The  pain  of  the  struggle  shone  in  her  eyes.  Her 
cheeks  lost  their  bloom;  there  were  lines  about  the 
little  mouth. 

Toppy  saw  it,  but  an  unwonted  shyness  had  come 
upon  him.  He  could  no  longer  speak  to  her  with 
the  frank  friendliness  of  their  previous  conversations. 
Something  which  he  could  not  place  had,  he  felt,  set 
them  apart. 

Perhaps  it  was  the  fact  that  he  saw  the  fascinations 
which  Reivers  had  for  her.  Reivers  was  his  enemy. 
They  had  been  enemies  from  the  moment  when  they 
first  had  measured  each  other  eye  to  eye.  He  felt 
that  he  had  one  aim  in  life  now,  and  one  only ;  that  was 
to  prove  to  himself  and  to  Reivers  that  Reivers  was 
not  his  master. 

Beyond  that  he  had  no  plans.     He  knew  that  this 


138  The  Snow-Burner 

meant  a  grapple  which  must  end  with  one  of  them 
broken  and  helpless.  The  unfortunate  one  might  be 
himself.  In  that  case  there  would  be  no  need  to 
think  of  the  future,  and  it  would  be  just  as  well  not 
to  have  spoken  any  more  with  the  girl. 

It  might  be  Reivers.  Then  he  would  be  guilty  in  her 
eyes  of  having  injured  the  man  for  whom  the  girl  now 
obviously  had  feelings  which  Toppy  could  construe  in 
but  one  way.  She  cared  for  Reivers,  in  spite  of  her- 
self; and  she  would  not  be  inclined  to  friendliness 
toward  the  man  who  had  conquered  him,  if  conquered 
he  should  be. 

The  more  Toppy  thought  it  over  the  less  enviable, 
to  his  notion,  became  his  standing  with  the  girl.  He 
ended  by  resolutely  determining  to  put  her  out  of 
his  thoughts.  After  all,  he  was  no  girl's  man.  He 
had  no  business  trying  to  be.  For  the  present  he  saw 
one  task  laid  out  before  him  as  inevitable  as  a  revealed 
fate — to  prove  himself  with  Reivers,  to  get  to  grips 
with  the  cold-blooded  master-man  who  had  made  him 
feel,  with  every  man  in  camp,  that  the  place  veritably 
was  a  Hell  Camp. 

Reivers'  brutal  dominance  lay  like  a  tangible  weight 
upon  Toppy's  spirit.  He  longed  for  only  one  thing— 
for  the  opportunity  to  stand  up  eye  to  eye  with  him 
and  learn  who  was  the  better  man.  Beyond  that 
he  did  not  see,  nor  care.  He  had  given  up  any  thought 
that  the  girl  might  ever  care  for  him. 


CHAPTER  XVII 
TILLY'S  WARNING 

NOVEMBER  passed,  and  the  first  half  of  Decem- 
ber. The  shortest  days  of  the  year  were  ap- 
proaching, and  still  the  cold,  crisp  weather,  ideal  for 
logging,  continued  without  a  break.  Hell  Camp  con- 
tinued to  hum  with  its  abnormal  activity.  A  thaw 
which  would  spoil  the  sleighing  and  ice-roads  for  the 
time  being  was  long  over-due.  With  the  coming  of 
the  thaw  would  come  a  temporary  lull  in  the  work  of 
the  camp. 

The  men  prayed  for  the  thaw;  Reivers  asked  that 
the  cold  weather  continue.  It  had  continued  now 
longer  than  he  had  expected  or  hoped,  and  the  output 
of  the  camp  already  was  double  that  of  what  would 
have  been  successful  logging  at  that  season.  But 
Reivers  was  not  satisfied.  The  record  that  he  was 
setting  served  only  to  spur  his  ambition  to  desperation. 

The  longer  the  cold  spell  hung  on  the  harder  he 
drove.  Each  day,  as  he  looked  at  the  low,  grey  sky 
and  saw  that  there  were  no  signs  of  a  break-up,  he 
turned  to  and  set  the  pace  a  little  faster  than  the  day 
before.  The  madness  of  achievement,  the  passion  to 
use  his  powers  to  accomplish  the  impossible,  the  char- 
acteristics which  had  won  him  the  name  of  Snow- 
Burner,  were  in  possession.  He  was  doing  the  impos- 
sible; he  was  accomplishing  what  no  other  man  could 
do,  what  all  men  said  was  impossible ;  and  the  feat  only 
created  a  hunger  to  do  more. 

J39 


140  The  Snow-Burner 

The  men  were  past  grumbling  now,  too  tired  of 
body  and  too  crushed  of  mind  to  give  expression  to 
their  feelings.  So  long  as  the  rush  of  work  continued 
they  were  as  harmless  as  harnessed  and  driven  cattle, 
incapable  of  anything  more  than  keeping  step  in  the 
mad  march  that  the  Snow-Burner  was  leading.  But 
all  men  knew  that  with  the  coming  of  a  thaw  and  the 
cessation  of  work  would  come  an  explosion  of  the 
murderous  hatred  which  Reivers'  tactics  had  driven 
into  the  hearts  of  the  men.  Now  and  then  a  man, 
driven  to  a  state  of  desperation  which  excluded  the 
possibility  of  fear,  stopped  and  rebelled.  One  day  a 
young  swamper,  a  gangling  lad  of  twenty,  raging  and 
weeping,  threw  himself  upon  Reivers  like  a  cat  upon  a 
bear.  Reivers,  with  a  laugh,  thrust  him  off  and  kicked 
him  out  of  the  way.  Another  time  a  huge  Slav  sprang 
at  him  with  his  razor-edged  ax  up-raised,  and,  quail- 
ing before  Reivers'  calm  look,  hurled  the  ax  away 
with  a  scream  and  ran  blindly  away  into  the  trackless 
woods.  Three  days  later,  starving  and  with  frozen 
hands  and  feet,  he  came  stumbling  up  to  the  stock- 
ade and  fell  in  a  lump. 

"Feed  him  up,"  ordered  Reivers,  smiling.  "I've 
got  a  little  use  for  him  when  he's  fixed  up  so  he  can 
feel.  You  see,  Treplin,"  he  continued  to  Toppy,  who 
had  been  called  to  bring  the  man  back  to  life,  "I'm  not 
all  cruelty.  When  I  want  to  save  a  man  to  amuse  my- 
self with  I'm  almost  as  much  of  a  humanitarian  as 
you  are." 

He  hurried  on  his  way,  but  before  he  was  out  of 
hearing  he  flung  back • 

"You  remember  how  carefully  I  had  Tilly  nurse  you, 
don't  you — doctor?" 

It  was  only  the  guards  that  Reivers  did  not  make 
enemies  of.  He  knew  that  he  had  need  of  their 
loyalty.  At  night  the  "white  men"  sat  on  the  edges 


Tilly's  Warning  141 

of  their  bunks  and  tried  to  concoct  feasible  schemes 
for  securing  possession  of  the  shotguns  of  the  guards. 

On  the  morning  of  the  shortest  day  of  the  year 
Toppy  heard  a  scratching  sound  at  the  window  near 
his  bunk  and  sprang  up.  It  was  still  pitch  dark,  long 
before  any  one  should  be  stirring  around  camp  save 
the  cook  and  cookees. 

"Who's  there?"  demanded  Toppy. 

"Me.  Want  talk  um  with  you,"  came  the  low  re- 
sponse from  without.  "You  no  come  out.  No  make 
noise.  Hear  through  window.  You  can  hear  um 
when  I  talk  huh  ?" 

"Tilly!"  gasped  Toppy.     "What's  up?" 

"You  hear  urn  what  I  talk?"  asked  the  squaw 
again. 

"Yes,-  yes;  I  can  hear  you.    What  is  it?" 

"You  like  um  li'l  Miss  Pearson,  huh?"  said  Tilly 
bluntly. 

"What?"  Toppy's  heart  was  pounding  with  sud- 
den excitement.  "What — what's  up,  Tilly?  There 
hasn't  anything  happened  to  Miss  Pearson,  has  there  ?" 

"Uh!  You  like  um  Miss  Pearson?  Tell  um  Tilly 
straight  or  Tilly  go  'way  and  no  talk  um  more  with 
you.  You  like  her?  Huh?" 

"Yes,"  said  Toppy  breathlessly,  after  a  long  pause. 
"Yes,  I  like  her.  What  is  it?" 

"You  no  like  see  um  Miss  Pearson  get  hurt?" 

"No,  no;  of  course  not.    Who's  going  to  hurt  her?" 

"Snow-Burner,"  said  Tilly.  "Tilly  tell  you  this 
before  she  go  'way.  Tilly  going  'way  now.  Tilly  go- 
ing 'way  far  off  to  father's  tepee.  Snow-Burner  tell 
um  me  go.  Snow-Burner  tell  um  me  go  last  night. 
Snow-Burner  say  he  no  want  Tilly  stay  in  camp 
longer.  Tilly  know  why  Snow-Burner  no  want  her 
stay  in  camp.  Snow-Burner  through  with  Tilly.  Snow- 
Burner  now  want  um  Miss  Pearson.  So." 


142  The  Snow- Burner 

"Tilly!  Hold  on!"  She  had  already  turned  away, 
but  she  halted  at  his  voice  and  came  close  to  the  win- 
dow. "What  is  this  ?  Are  you  going  away  at  once — 
because  the  Snow-Burner  says  so?" 

The  squaw  nodded,  stoically  submissive. 

"Snow-Burner  say  'go' ;  Tilly  go,"  she  said.  "Snow- 
Burner  say  go  before  any  one  see  urn  me  this  morn- 
ing. I  go  now.  Must  go;  Snow-Burner  say  so." 

"And  Miss  Pearson?"  whispered  Toppy  frantically. 
"Did  he  say  anything  about  her?" 

Tilly  nodded  heavily. 

"Tell  um  me  long  'go.  Tell  um  me  before  Miss 
Pearson  come.  Tell  um  me  he  going  marry  Miss 
Pearson  for  um  Christmas  present.  Christmas  Day 
come  soon  now.  Snow-Burner  no  want  Tilly  here 
then.  Send  Tilly  'way." 

The  breath  seemed  to  leave  Toppy's  body  for  an 
instant.  He  swayed  and  caught  at  the  window-frame. 

"Marry  her — Christmas  Day?"  he  whispered,  hor- 
rified. 

"Yes.  He  no  tell  um  Miss  Pearson  yet.  He  tell  me 
no  tell  um  her,  no  tell  um  anybody.  I  tell  you.  Now 
go." 

Before  Toppy  had  sufficiently  recovered  his  wits 
to  speak  again  he  heard  the  crunch  of  her  moccasins 
on  the  snow  dying  away  in  the  darkness  as  the  cast- 
off  squaw  stolidly  started  on  her  journey  into  the 
woods. 

"Tilly !"  called  Toppy  desperately,  but  there  was  no 
answer. 

"What's  matter?"  murmured  Campbell,  disturbed 
in  his  deep  slumber,  and  falling  to  sleep  again  before 
he  received  a  reply. 

Toppy  stood  for  a  long  time  with  his  face  held 
close  to  the  window  through  which  he  had  heard  Tilly's 
startling  news.  The  shock  had  numbed  him.  Al- 


Tilly's  Warning  143 

though  he  had  been  prepared  to  expect  anything  of 
Reivers,  he  now  realised  that  this  was  something  more 
than  he  had  thought  possible  even  from  him.  The 
Snow-Burner — marry  Miss  Pearson — for  a  Christmas 
present — Christmas  Day!  He  seemed  to  hear  Tilly 
repeating  the  words  over  and  over  again.  And  Reivers 
had  not  even  so  much  as  told  Miss  Pearson  of  what 
he  intended  to  do.  He  had  not  even  told  her  that 
he  intended  to  marry  her.  So  Tilly  said,  and  Tilly 
knew.  What  did  Reivers  intend  to  do  then?  How 
did  he  know  he  was  going  to  marry  her?  How  did 
he  know  she  would  have  him? 

Toppy  shivered  a  little  as  his  wits  began  to  work 
more  clearly,  and  the  full  significance  of  the  situation 
began  to  grow  clear  to  him.  He  understood  now. 
Reivers  had  good  reason  for  making  his  plans  so  con- 
fidently. He  had  studied  the  girl  until  he  had  seen 
that  his  will  had  dominated  hers;  that  though  she 
might  not  love  him,  might  even  fear  him,  she  had  not 
the  will-power  against  him  to  say  nay  to  his  wishes. 

He  knew  that  she  was  helplessly  fascinated,  that 
she  was  his  for  the  taking.  He  had  been  too  busy  to 
take  her  until  now;  the  serious  duties  of  his  position 
had  allowed  no  time  for  dalliance.  So  the  girl  had 
been  safe  and  unmolested — until  now!  And  now 
Reivers  was  secretly  preparing  to  make  her  his  own! 

A  sudden  thought  struck  Toppy,  and  he  tiptoed  to 
the  door  and  looked  out  Instead  of  the  crisp  cold- 
ness of  recent  mornings  there  was  a  warm  mugginess 
in  the  air ;  and  Toppy,  bending  down,  placed  his  hand 
on  the  snow  and  felt  that  it  had  begun  to  soften.  The 
thaw  had  come. 

"I  thought  so,"  he  said  to  himself.  "The  work 
will  break  up  now,  and  he's  going  to  amuse  himself. 
Well,  he  made  a  mistake  when  he  told  Tilly.  She's 


144  The  Snow-Burner 

been  civilised  just  enough  to  make  her  capable  of  jeal- 
ousy." 

He  went  back  to  his  bunk  and  dressed. 

"What  are  you  stirring  around  so  early  for?" 
grumbled  Campbell.  "Dinna  ye  get  work  enough  dur- 
ing the  day,  to  be  getting  up  in  the  dark?" 

"The  thaw's  come,"  said  Toppy,  throwing  on  his 
cap.  "There'll  be  something  doing  besides  work  now." 

He  went  out  into  the  dark  morning,  crossed  the 
road  and  softly  tried  the  door  to  the  office.  He  felt 
much  better  when  he  had  assured  himself  that  the  door 
was  securely  locked  on  the  inside.  Then  he  returned 
to  the  shop  and  waited  for  the  daylight  to  appear. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 
"CANNY  BY  NATURE" 

OLD  Campbell  arose  at  his  usual  time,  surprised 
and  pleased  to  find  that  Toppy  had  breakfast  al- 
ready cooked  and  on  the  table.  Being  a  canny  Scot, 
he  did  not  express  his  surprise  or  pleasure,  but  pro- 
ceeded to  look  about  for  signs  to  indicate  the  reason  of 
Toppy's  unwonted  conduct.  All  that  he  could  make 
out  was  that  Toppy's  eyes  were  bright  with  some  sort 
of  excitement,  and  that  the  grim  set  of  his  mouth  had 
given  way  to  an  expression  of  relief.  So  the  Scot 
sat  down  to  eat,  shaking  his  grey  head  in  puzzled 
fashion. 

"I  dinna  see  that  this  thaw  should  be  any  reason 
for  your  parading  around  before  the  night's  done," 
he  grumbled.  "Were  you  so  tired  of  a  little  useful 
work  that  ye  maun  greet  a  let-down  with  such  early 
rising?" 

Toppy  sat  down  and  proceeded  to  breakfast  with- 
out venturing  a  reply.  When  they  had  finished  the 
meal  he  pushed  back  his  chair  and  looked  across  at 
Campbell.  Huge  and  careless,  he  sprawled  in  his 
chair,  the  tension  and  uncertainty  gone  now  that  he 
had  made  his  resolution;  and  Campbell,  studying  his 
face,  sensed  that  something  was  up  and  leaned  forward 
eagerly. 

"I  want  to  lay  off  to-day,  Scotty,"  said  Toppy  de- 
liberately. "I've  got  a  little  business  that  I  want  to 
settle  with  Reivers." 

H5 


146 


The  Snow-Burner 


Old  Campbell  did  not  start  nor  in  any  way  indicate 
surprise. 

"Aye!"  he  said  quietly  after  a  pause.  "I  ha'  seen 
from  the  first  it  would  have  to  be  that  in  the  end.  Ye 
maun  settle  which  is  best  man.  But  why  to-day?" 

"Because  now  that  the  thaw  has  spoiled  the  sleighing 
Reivers  will  have  time  for  deviltry."  And  Toppy  went 
on  and  told  all  that  he  had  heard  from  Tilly's  lips 
that  morning.  Campbell  shook  his  head  angrily  as 
he  heard. 

"Many  things  has  the  Snow-Burner  done  ill,"  he 
said,  "and  his  sins  against  men  and  women  crv  for 
punishment;  but  that — to  yon  little  lass — gi'n  he  did 
that,  that  would  be  worst  of  all.  What  are  your  plans, 
lad?" 

"Nothing,"  said  Toppy.  "I  will  go  and  find  hirn, 
and  we'll  have  it  out." 

"Not  so,"  said  Campbell  swiftly.  "Gi'n  you  did 
that  'twould  cost  you  your  life  did  you  chance  to 
win  o'er  him.  Do  you  think  those  devils  with  the 
guns  would  not  murder  to  win  favour  of  the  Snow- 
Burner,  him  holding  the  lives  and  liberty  of  all  of 
them  in  his  hands  as  he  does?  Nay,  lad!  Fight  ye 
must;  you're  both  too  big  and  spirited  to  meet  with- 
out coming  to  grips ;  but  you  have  aye  the  need  of  an 
old  head  on  your  side  if  you're  to  stand  up  with 
Reivers  on  even  terms. 

"What  think  you  he  would  fancy,  did  you  go  to 
him  with  a  confident  bold  challenge  as  you  suggest? 
That  you  had  a  trick  up  your  sleeve,  with  the  men 
in  on  it,  perhaps;  and  he'd  have  the  guards  there 
with  their  guns  to  see  he  won  as  sure  as  we're  sitting 
here  talking.  No ;  I  ha'  seen  for  weeks  'twas  coming 
on,  and  I  ha'  been  using  this  auld  head  o'  mine.  I  may 
even  say  I  ha'  been  doing  more  than  thinking;  I  ha' 
been  talking.  I  have  told  Reivers  that  you  were 


"Canny  by  Nature"  147 

becoming  unbearable  in  this  shop,  and  that  I  could 
not  stand  you  much  longer  as  my  helper." 

Toppy  looked  across  the  table,  amazed  and  pained. 

"Why — what's  wrong,  Scotty?"  he  stammered. 

"Tush,  lad!"  snapped  the  old  man.  "Dinna  think 
I  meant  it.  I  only  told  Reivers  so  for  the  effect." 

Toppy  was  bewildered. 

"I  don't  see  what  you're  driving  at,  Scotty." 

"Listen,  then ;  I  ha'  told  Reivers  that  you  were  get- 
ting the  swell  head  so  bad  there  was  no  working  you. 
I  ha'  told  him  you  were  at  heart  nothing  but  a  fresh 
young  whiffet  who  needed  taming,  and  gi'n  he  made 
me  keep  you  here  I  mysel'  would  do  the  taming  with 
an  ax-handle.  Do  you  begin  to  get  my  drift  now, 
lad?" 

"I  confess  I  don't,"  admitted  Toppy. 

"Well,  then — Reivers  said :  'That's  how  I  sized 
him  up,  too.  But  don't  you  do  the  taming,  Campbell/ 
says  he.  'I  am  saving  him  for  mysel','  he  says.  'But 
I  will  not  put  up  with  his  lip  longer/  said  I.  'Man, 
Reivers/  I  says,  'he  thinks  he's  a  fighter,  and  the  other 
day  I  slammed  him  on  his  back  mysel' ;  and  gi'n  I 
had  my  old  wind/  I  says,  'I  would  have  whipped  him 
then  and  there/ 

"Oh,  carried  on  strong,  losing  my  temper  and  all. 
'Five  year  ago  I  would  ha'  broken  his  back,  the  big 
young  fool!'  I  says.  'An'  he  swaggers  around  me 
and  thinks  he's  a  boss  man  because  he  licked  that  bloat 
Sheedy.  Ah !'  I  says.  Til  stand  it  till  he  gives  me  lip 
again;  then  I'll  lay  him  out  with  whatever  I  have  in 
my  hands/  says  I. 

"  'Don't  do  it/  says  Reivers,  smiling  to  see  me  so 
worked  up,  and  surmising,  as  I  intended  he  should, 
that  I  was  angry  only  because  I'd  discovered  that 
you  were  a  better  man  than  mysel'.  'Save  him  for  me/ 
says  he.  'As  soon  as  I  have  more  time  I  will  'tend  to 


148  The  Snow-Burner 

him.  In  the  meantime/  he  says,  'let  him  go  on  think- 
ing he  is  a  good  man.' 

"Lad,  he  swallowed  it  all,  for  it's  four  years  since 
he  knew  me  first,  and  that  was  the  first  lie  I'd  told  him 
at  all.  Til  take  him  under  my  eye  soon  as  I  have 
more  time,'  says  he.  'He'll  not  swagger  after  I've 
tamed  him  a  little.' ' 

"But  I  don't  just  see ' 

"Dolt !  Dinna  you  see  that  noo  he  considers  you  as 
an  overconfident  young  fool  whom  he's  going  to  take 
the  conceit  out  of?  Dinna  ye  see  that  noo  you're  in 
the  same  category  as  the  other  men  he's  broken  down  ? 
He'll  not  think  it  worth  while  to  have  his  shotgun 
men  handy  noo  when  he  starts  in  to  do  his  breaking. 
He'll  start  it,  ye  understand;  not  you.  'Twill  be 
proper  so.  I  will  go  this  morning  and  tell  him  that 
the  end  has  come;  that  I  can  not  stand  you  longer 
around  me.  He'll  give  you  something  to  do — under 
him.  Under  him,  do  you  see?  Then  you  must  e'en 
watch  your  chance,  and — and  happen  I'll  manage  to 
be  around  in  case  the  guards  should  show  up." 

"Better  keep  out  of  it  altogether,"  said  Toppy. 
"They  won't  use  their  guns  in  an  even  fight,  and  you 
couldn't  do  anything  with  your  bare  hands  if  they  did." 

"With  my  bare  hands,  no,"  said  Campbell,  going 
to  his  bunk.  "But  I  am  not  so  bare-handed  as  you 
think,  lad."  He  dug  under  the  blankets  and  held  up 
a  huge  black  revolver.  "Canny  by  nature!"  he  said; 
thrusting  the  grim  weapon  under  his  trousers-band. 
"I  made  no  idle  threat  when  I  told  Reivers  I  would 
shoot  his  head  off  did  he  ever  try  to  make  a  broken 
man  out  of  me.  I  have  had  this  utensil  handy  ever 
since." 

"Scotty,"  cried  Toppy,  deeply  moved  at  the  old 
man's  staunch  friendship,  "when  did  you  begin  to  plan 
this  scheme?" 


"Canny  by  Nature"  149 

Campbell  looked  squarely  into  his  eyes. 

"The  same  day  that  I  talked  with  yon  lassie  and 
learned  how  Reivers  had  fascinated  her." 

"Why?" 

"Dinna  ye  know  nothing  about  women,  lad?" 

"I What  do  you  mean?" 

"Do  you  fancy  Reivers  could  carry  his  will  so  strong 
with  folks  gi'n  ye  happen  to  make  a  beaten  man  out 
of  him?  And  do  you  not  think  yon  lass  would  come 
back  to  her  right  mind  gi'n  the  Snow-Burner  loses 
his  power  o'er  her?  You're  no'  so  blind  as  not  to 
see  she's  no  liking  for  him,  but  the  de'il  has  in  a  way 
mesmerised  her." 

"Then  you  mean " 

"That  when  you  and  the  Snow-Burner  put  up  your 
mitts  ye'll  be  fighting  for  more  than  just  to  see  who's 
best  man.  Now  think  that  over,  lad,  while  I  go  and 
complain  to  Reivers  that  I  can  not  stand  you  an 
hour  longer,  and  arange  for  him  to  give  you  your 
taming." 


CHAPTER  XIX 

THE  FIGHT 

IT  was  past  sunrise  now;  the  mugginess  in  the 
air  had  fled  before  the  unclouded  sun,  and  the  day 
was  pleasantly  bright  and  warm.  The  sunlight  com- 
ing in  through  the  eastern  window  flooded  the  room. 
Outside  could  be  heard  the  steady  drip-drip  from  the 
melting  icicles,  and  the  chirp  of  the  chickadees  indus- 
triously seeking  a  breakfast  around  the  door  made 
the  morning  cheery. 

Toppy  sat  heaved  forward  in  his  chair  after  Camp- 
bell had  gone  on  his  errand,  and  looked  out  of  the 
open  door,  and  waited.  From  where  he  sat  he  could 
see  the  office  across  the  way.  Presently  he  saw  Miss 
Pearson  come  out,  stand  for  a  moment  in  the  door- 
way peering  around  in  puzzled  fashion,  and  go  in 
again. 

Toppy  did  not  move.  He  knew  what  that  signified 
— that  the  girl  was  puzzled  and  perhaps  frightened 
over  the  absence  of  the  squaw,  Tilly;  but  he  had  no 
impulse  to  cross  the  street  and  break  the  news  to  her. 
The  girl,  Tilly's  absence,  such  things  were  to  him 
only  incidentals  now.  He  saw  the  girl  as  if  far  away, 
as  if  she  were  something  that. did  not  greatly  con- 
cern him. 

Through  his  mind  there  ran  recollections  of  other 
moments  like  this — moments  of  waiting  in  the  train- 
ing-quarters back  at  school  for  the  word  of  the  coach 
to  trot  out  on  the  field.  The  same  ease  of  spirit  after 

150 


The  Fight  151 

the  tension  of  weeks  of  hard  training;  the  same  sinking 
of  all  worry  and  nervousness  in  the  knowledge  that 
now  that  the  test  was  on  he  would  do  the  best  that  was 
in  him,  and  that  beyond  this  there  was  nothing  for 
a  man  to  think  or  worry  about. 

Back  there  at  school  there  had  also  been  that  sense 
of  dissociation  from  all  things  not  involved  in  the 
contest  before  him.  The  roaring  stands,  the  pretty 
girls  waving  the  bright-hued  banners,  the  sound  of 
his  name  shouted  far  down  the  field — he  had  heard 
them,  but  they  had  not  affected  him.  For  the  time 
being,  then  as  now,  he  had  become  a  wonderful  hu- 
man machine,  completely  concentrated,  as  machines 
must  be,  upon  the  accomplishment  of  one  task.  Then 
it  had  been  to  play  a  game;  now  it  was  to  fight.  But 
it  was  much  the  same,  after  all;  it  was  all  in  the  man- 
game. 

A  feeling  of  content  was  the  only  emotion  that 
Toppy  was  conscious  of  in  the  long  minutes  during 
which  he  wajted  for  Campbell  to  return.  The  drip- 
drip  from  the  eaves  and  the  chirp  of  the  chickadees 
came  as  music  to  his  ears.  The  Snow-Burner  and 
he  were  going  to  fight;  in  that  knowledge  there  was 
relief  after  the  weeks  of  tension. 

Heavy,  crunching  steps  sounded  on  the  snow  out- 
side, and  Campbell's  broad  shoulders  filled  the  door- 
way. Toppy  bent  over  and  carefully  tightened  a 
shoe-lace. 

"It's  all  set,"  said  Campbell  rapidly.  "He  says  send 
you  to  him  at  once.  You're  in  luck.  He's  in  the 
stockade.  Get  you  up  and  go  to  him.  There  is  only 
one  guard  at  the  gate.  I'll  follow  and  be  handy  in 
case  he  should  interfere." 

That  was  all.  Toppy  rose  up  and  strode  out  with- 
out a  word.  He  made  his  way  to  the  stockade  gate 
with  a  carelessness  of  manner  that  belied  his  purpose. 


152  The  Snow-Burner 

He  noted  that  the  guard  stood  on  the  outside  of  the" 
gate  and  that  the  snow  already  was  squashy  under- 
foot. The  gate  opened  and  admitted  him  and  closed 
behind  him.  Then  he  was  walking  across  the  yard 
toward  Reivers,  who  stood  waiting  before  the  camp 
kitchen  at  the  far  end  of  the  yard. 

Here  and  there  Toppy  saw  men  in  the  bunkhouses, 
perhaps  fifty  in  all,  and  realised  that  the  sudden  thaw 
had  at  once  enforced  a  period  of  idleness  for  some 
of  the  men.  He  nodded  lightly  in  response  to  the 
greeting  from  one  of  the  men  whom  he  had  doctored ; 
then  he  was  standing  before  Reivers,  and  Reivers  was 
looking  at  him  as  he  had  looked  at  Rosky  the  day 
when  he  broke  the  Bohunk's  leg.  Toppy  looked  back, 
unmoved.  For  a  moment  the  two  stood  silent,  eye 
measuring  eye.  Then  Efeivers  spoke  savagely,  en- 
raged at  finding  a  will  that  braved  his  own. 

"What  kind  of  a  game  are  you  trying  to  play,  Trep- 
lin?" 

"Game?"  repeated  Toppy  innocently. 

"Come,  come !"  Reivers'  brows  were  drawing  down 
over  his  eyes,  and  again  Toppy  for  some  reason  was 
reminded  of  a  bear.  "You  don't  suppose  I'm  as  in- 
nocent as  Campbell,  do  you  ?  You've  been  raising  — 
in  the  shop,  I  hear.  You're  doing  that  with  an  object. 
You're  trying  some  game.  I  don't  care  what  it  is; 
it  doesn't  go.  There  doesn't  anybody  try  any  games 
in  this  place  except  myself." 

"How  about  poker-games?"  suggested  Toppy 
quietly. 

A  man  hidden  in  the  darkness  of  the  bunkhouse  be- 
hind Reivers  snickered  audibly ;  for  Campbell  had  told 
the  story  of  how  Toppy  had  bested  the  boss  at  poker 
and  the  man  understood  Toppy's  thrust.  Reivers' 
eyes  flashed  and  his  jaw  shot  out,  but  in  an  instant 
he  had  his  anger  under  control  again.  He  smiled. 


The  Fight  153 

"Well,  well ;  so  we're  playing  the  wit,  are  we — doc- 
tor?" he  sneered  softly.  "We're  trying  to  drive  that 
trained  mind  of  ours  to  be  brilliant,  are  we?  Well, 
I  wouldn't,  Treplin ;  the  strain  on  inferior  machinery 
may  be  fatal."  Suddenly  his  whole  face  seemed  to 
change,  convulsed  in  a  spasm  of  brute  threatening. 
"Get  over  there  in  that  corner  and  dig  a  slop-sink ;  you 
hear  me?"  Reivers'  voice  was  a  snarl  as  he  pointed 
to  the  corner  near  the  kitchen,  where  a  pick  and  shovel 
lay  waiting.  "That's  what  you're  going  to  do,  my  fine 
buck,  with  your  nerve  to  dare  to  come  into  my  camp 
and  think  you're  my  equal.  Dig  slop-holes  for  my 
Dago  cook ;  that's  what  you're  going  to  do ! 

"Do  you  hear?  You're  going  to  be  the  lowest 
scavenger  in  this  gang  of  scum.  I'm  going  to  break 
you.  I'm  going  to  keep  you  here  until  I'm  through 
with  you.  I'm  going  to  send  you  out  of  here  so  low 
down  that  a  saloon  scrub-out  would  kick  you  on  gen- 
eral principles.  That's  what's  going  to  happen  to  you ! 
I'm  going  to  play  with  you.  I'm  going  to  show  you 
how  well  it  pays  to  think  of  yourself  as  my  equal  in 
my  own  camp.  Get  over  there  now — right  over  there 
where  the  whole  camp  can  see  you,  and  dig  a  hole 
for  the  Dago  to  throw  his  slops !" 

Few  men  could  have  faced  the  sight  of  the  Snow- 
Burner's  face  as  the  words  shot  from  his  iron-like 
lips  without  retreating,  but  Toppy  stood  still.  He  be- 
gan to  smile. 

"Pardon,  Reivers,"  he  said  softly,  "I  never  thought 
of  myself  as  your  equal." 

"Don't  whine  now;  it's  too  late!     Go " 

"Because  I  know  I'm  a  better  man  than  you  ever 
could  be." 

It  grew  very  still  with  great  suddenness  there  in 
the  corner  of  the  big  yard.  The  men  within  hearing 
held  their  breaths.  The  drip-drip  from  the  eaves 


154  The  Snow-Burner 

sounded  loud  in  the  silence.  And  now  Toppy  saw  the 
wolf -era  ft  creeping  to  its  own  far  back  in  Reivers' 
eyes,  and  without  moving  he  stood  tensed  for  sudden, 
flash-like  action. 

"So  that's  it?"  said  Reivers,  smiling;  and  then  he 
struck  with  serpent-tongue  swiftness.  And  with  that 
blow  Toppy  knew  how  desperate  would  be  the  battle ; 
for,  skilled  boxer  and  on  the  alert  as  he  was,  he  had 
time  only  to  snap  his  jaw  to  one  side  far  enough  to 
save  himself  from  certain  knockout,  while  the  iron- 
like  fist  tore  the  skin  off  his  cheek  as  it  shot  past. 

Reivers  had  not  thrgwn  his  body  behind  the  blow. 
He  stood  upright  and  ready.  He  was  a  little  surprised 
that  his  man  did  not  go  down.  Toppy,  recovering 
like  a  flash,  likewise  was  prepared.  A  tiny  instant  they 
faced  each  other.  Then  with  simultaneous  growls 
they  hurled  themselves  breast  to  breast  and  the  fight 
was  on. 

Toppy  had  yielded  to  the  impulse  to  answer  in  kind 
the  challenge  that  had  flared  in  Reivers'  eyes.  It 
wasn't  science;  it  wasn't  sense.  It  was  the  blind, 
primitive  impulse  to  come  into  shock  with  a  foe,  to 
stop  him,  to  force  him  back,  to  make  him  break  ground. 
Breast  upon  breast  Reivers  and  Toppy  came  together 
and  stopped  short,  two  bodies  of  equal  force  suddenly 
meeting. 

Neither  gave  ground;  neither  made  a  pretense  at 
guarding.  Toe  to  toe  they  stood,  head  to  head,  and 
drove  their  fists  against  one  another's  iron-strong 
bodies  with  a  rapidity  and  a  force  that  only  giants 
like  themselves  could  have  withstood  for  a  moment. 
It  was  madness,  it  was  murder,  and  the  group  of  men 
who  were  watching  held  their  breaths  and  waited  for 
one  or  the  other  to  wilt  and  go  down,  the  life  knocked 
out  of  him  by  those  pile-driver  blows. 

Then,  as  suddenly  as  they  had  come  together,  the 


The  Fight  155 

pair  leaped  apart,  rushed  together  again,  gripped  into 
a  clinch,  struggled  in  Titan  fashion  with  futile  heav- 
ing and  tripping,  flew  apart  once  more,  then  volleyed 
each  other  with  vicious  punches — a  kaleidoscope  of 
springing  legs,  rushing  bodies,  and  stiffly  driven  arms. 

It  was  a  battle  that  drove  the  fear  of  Reivers  from 
the  heart  of  the  men  who  witnessed  and  dragged  them 
forth  to  form  a  ring  around  the  two  fighters.  It  was 
a  battle  to  make  men  roar  with  frenzy ;  but  not  a  sound 
came  from  the  ring  that  expanded  and  closed  as  the 
battle  raged  here  and  there.  The  men  were  at  first  too 
shocked  to  cry  out  at  the  sight  of  any  one  daring  to 
give  the  Snow-Burner  fight;  and  after  the  shock  had 
worn  away  they  were  too  wary  to  give  a  sign  that 
might  bring  the  guards.  Silently  and  tight-lipped  the 
ring  formed ;  and  each  pair  of  eyes  that  watched  shot 
nothing  but  hatred  for  Reivers. 

Toppy  was  the  first  to  recover  from  the  initial 
frensied  impulse  to  strive  to  annihilate  in  one  rush 
his  hated  enemy.  He  shook  his  head  as  he  was  wont 
to  do  after  a  hard  scrimmage  on  the  gridiron,  and  his 
fighting-wits  were  clear  again.  So  far  he  knew  he 
had  held  his  own,  but  only  held  it.  Perhaps  he  out- 
bulked  Reivers  slightly  in  body  and  was  a  trifle  quicker 
on  his  feet,  but  Reivers'  blows  were  enough  heavier 
than  his  to  even  up  this  advantage. 

He  had  driven  his  fist  flush  home  on  his  foreman's 
neck  under  the  ear,  and  the  neck  had  not  yielded 
any  more  than  a  column  of  wood.  He  had  felt 
Reivers'  fist  drive  home  full  on  his  cheekbone  and  it 
seemed  that  he  had  been  struck  by  a  handful  of  iron. 
When  they  had  strained  breast  against  breast  in  the 
first  clash  the  fact  that  they  were  of  equal  strength 
had  been  apparent  to  both.  Equally  matched,  and 
both  equally  determined  to  win,  Toppy  knew  that  the 
fight  would  be  long;  and  he  began  to  circle  scientific- 


156  The  Snow-Burner 

ally,  striking  and  guarding  with  all  his  cunning,  sav- 
ing himself  while  he  watched  for  a  slip  or  an  open- 
ing that  might  offer  an  advantage. 

Suddenly  the  opening  came,  as  Reivers  for  a  second 
paused,  deceived  by  Toppy's  tactics.  Like  a  bullet 
to  the  mark  Toppy's  right  shot  home  on  the  exposed 
chin;  but  Reivers,  felled  to  his  knees  as  if  shot,  was 
up  like  a  flash,  staggering  Toppy  with  a  left  on  the 
mouth  and  rushing  him  around  and  around  in  fury 
at  the  knockdown.  An  added  grimness  to  Toppy's 
expression  told  how  he  appreciated  the  significance  of 
this  incident.  He  had  put  all  his  force,  from  toes  to 
knuckles,  into  that  blow ;  and  Reivers  had  merely  been 
staggered.  Again  Toppy  began  circling,  deliberately 
saving  himself  for  a  drawn-out  battle  which  now  to 
him  seemed  uphill. 

The  ring  of  watchers  around  the  pair  grew  more 
close,  more  eager.  All  of  the  men  present  in  the 
bunkhouses  had  rushed  out  to  see  the  fight.  As  Toppy 
circled  he  saw  in  the  foremost  ranks  the  Torta  boys 
and  most  of  the  gang  that  had  worked  under  him  in 
the  quarry;  and  by  the  looks  in  their  eyes  he  knew 
that  he  was  fighting  in  the  presence  of  friends.  In  the 
next  second  their  looks  had  turned  to  dismay  as  Reiv- 
ers, swiftly  feinting  with  his  left,  drove  home  the  right 
against  Toppy's  jaw  and  knocked  him  to  his  haunches. 
But  Toppy,  rising  slowly,  caught  Reivers  as  he  closed 
in  to  follow  up  his  advantage  and  with  a  heavy  swing 
to  the  eye  stopped  him  in  his  tracks.  A  low  cry  escaped 
the  tight  lips  around  the  ring.  The  blood  was  spurt- 
ing from  a  clean  cut  in  Reivers'  brow  and  a  few  men 
called — 

"First  Mood!" 

Then  Toppy  spat  out  the  blood  he  had  held  in  after 
Reivers'  blow.  The  feel  of  the  blood  running  down 
his  face  turned  Reivers  to  a  fury.  He  rushed  with  an 


The  Fight  157 

impetuosity  which  nothing  could  withstand,  his  fists 
playing  a  tattoo  on  Toppy's  head  and  body.  Like  a 
tiger  Toppy  fought  back;  but  Reivers'  rage  for  the 
moment  had  given  him  added  strength.  He  fought  as 
a  man  who  intends  to  end  a  fight  in  a  hurry ;  he  rushed 
and  struck  with  power  to  annihilate  with  one  blow,  and 
rushed  and  struck  again. 

Toppy  was  pressed  back.  A  groan  came  from  the 
crowd  as  they  saw  him  stagger  from  a  blow  on  the  jaw 
and  saw  Reivers  set  himself  for  one  last  desperate 
effort.  Reivers  rushed,  his  face  the  face  of  a  demon, 
his  left  ripping  up  for  the  body,  his  right  looping 
overhand  in  a  killing  swing  at  the  head;  and  then 
the  crowd  gasped,  for  Toppy,  with  his  superior  quick- 
ness of  foot,  side-stepped  and  as  Reivers  plunged  past 
dealt  him  a  left  in  the  mouth  that  flung  him  half  around 
and  sent  him  staggering  against  the  outheld  hands  of 
the  crowd. 

When  Reivers  turned  around  now  he  was  bleeding 
from  the  mouth  also,  and  in  his  eyes  was  a  look  of 
caution  that  Toppy  had  never  seen  there  before. 

The  fight  now  became  as  dogged  as  it  was  furious. 
Each  man  had  tried  to  end  it  with  a  single  and,  fail- 
ing, knew  that  he  must  wear  his  opponent  down. 
Neither  had  been  seriously  damaged  by  the  blows 
struck  and  neither  was  in  the  least  tired.  The  thud 
of  blow  followed  blow.  Back  and  forth  the  pair 
shuffled,  first  one  driving  the  other  with  volleys  of 
punches,  then  his  antagonist  suddenly  turning  the 
tables. 

Toppy,  feeling  that  he  was  fighting  an  uphill  fight, 
saved  himself  more  than  Reivers.  The  latter,  who 
felt  himself  the  master,  became  more  and  more  en- 
raged as  Toppy  continued  to  stand  up  before  him  and 
give  him  back  as  good  as  he  gave.  Each  time  that 
Toppy  reached  face  or  body  with  a  solid  blow  the 


158  The  Snow-Burner 

savage  fury  flared  in  Reivers'  eyes,  and  he  lunged  for- 
ward like  a  maddened  bull.  Always,  however,  he 
recovered  himself  and  resumed  the  fight  with  brains 
as  well  as  brawn. 

Toppy  never  lost  his  head  after  the  first  wild  spasm. 
He  realised  that  they  were  so  evenly  matched  that 
the  loser  would  lose  by  a  slip  of  the  mind  by  letting 
some  weak  spot  in  his  character,  master  him;  and  he 
held  himself  in  with  an  iron  will.  Reivers'  blows 
goaded  and  tempted  him  to  rush  in  madly,  but  he  held 
back.  The  men  about  the  ring  thought  he  was  losing, 
and  their  voices  rose  in  growled  encouragement. 

Toppy  was  not  losing.  As  he  saw  Reivers  become 
more  and  more  furious  his  hopes  began  to  rise.  At 
each  opportunity  he  reached  Reivers'  face,  cutting  open 
his  other  eye,  bringing  the  blood  from  his  nose,  sting- 
ing him  into  added  furies.  Toppy  was  knocked  down 
several  times  in  the  rushes  that  invariably  followed 
such  blows,  but  each  time  he  recovered  himself  be- 
fore Reivers  could  rush  upon  him.  Suddenly  his  fight- 
ing-instinct telegraphed  him  that  Reivers  was  about  to 
try  something  new.  He  drew  back  a  little,  Reivers 
following  closely.  Suddenly  it  came.  Without  warn- 
ing Reivers  kicked.  The  blow  took  Toppy  in  the 
groin  and  he  stumbled  backward  from  its  force.  A  cry 
of  rage  went  up  from  the  watching  men.  But  Toppy 
sprung  erect  in  an  instant. 

"All  right!"  he  called.  "It  didn't  hurt  me.  Shut 
up,  you  fools." 

Thanks  to  his  training,  his  hard  muscles  had  turned 
the  kick  and  saved  him  from  being  disabled. 

"What's  the  matter,  Reivers?"  he  taunted  as  he  cir- 
cled carefully.  "Losing  confidence  in  your  fists?  Got 
to  use  your  feet,  eh?  Lost  your  kick,  too,  haven't 
you  ?  Well,  well !  Then  you  certainly  are  in  for  a  fine 
trimming !" 


The  Fight  159 

Again  Reivers  kicked,  this  time  aiming  low  at  the 
shin-bone;  but  Toppy  avoided  it  easily  and  danced 
back  with  a  laugh. 

"Can't  even  land  it  any  more!"  Treplin  chuckled. 
"Show  us  some  more  tricks,  Reivers !" 

Reivers  had  thrown  off  all  restraint  now.  He  fought 
with  lowered  head,  and  Toppy  once  more,  as  he  saw 
the  eyes  watching  him  through  the  thick  brows, 
thought  of  a  bear.  The  savagery  at  the  root  of  Reiv- 
ers' character  was  coming  to  the  top.  It  was  master- 
ing, choking  down  his  intelligence.  He  struck  and 
kicked  and  gnashed  his  teeth;  and  curses  rolled  in  a 
steady  stream  from  his  lips.  One  kick  landed  on 
Toppy's  thigh  with  a  thud. 

"Here,  bahass!"  screamed  a  voice  to  Toppy,  and 
from  somewhere  in  the  crowd  an  ax  was  pitched  at 
his  feet. 

Laughingly  Toppy  kicked  the  weapon  to  one  side, 
and,  though  in  deep  pain  from  the  last  kick,  continued 
fighting  as  if  nothing  had  happened. 

The  savage  now  dominating  Reivers  had  seen  and 
been  caught  by  the  sight  of  the  flashing  steel.  A 
gleam  of  animal  cunning  showed  in  the  depths  of  his 
ferocious  eyes.  To  cripple,  to  kill,  to  destroy  with 
one  terrible  stroke — that  was  his  single  passion.  The 
axe  open  the  way. 

Craftily  he  began  rushing  systematically.  Little 
by  little  he  drove  Toppy  back.  Closer  and  closer  he 
came  to  the  spot  where  the  axe  lay  on  the  ground. 
Once  more  Toppy's  instinct  warned  him  that  Reivers 
was  after  a  terrible  coup,  and  once  more  his  whole 
mind  and  body  responded  with  extra  vigilance. 

As  he  circled,  presently  he  felt  the  axe  under  his 
feet  and  understood.  He  saw  that  Reivers  was  sys- 
tematically working  toward  the  weapon,  though  ap- 
parently unconscious  of  its  existence. 


160  The  Snow-Burner 

It  was  in  Toppy's  mind  to  dance  away,  to  call  out 
to  the  men  to  remove  the  axe;  but  before  he  could 
do  so  something  had  whispered  to  him  to  hold  his 
tongue.  He  continued  to  retreat  slowly,  fighting  back 
at  every  inch. 

Now  he  had  stepped  beyond  the  axe. 

Now  it  lay  between  him  and  Reivers. 

Now  it  lay  beneath  Reivers'  feet,  and  now,  as 
Reivers  stooped  to  pick  it  up,  Toppy,  like  a  tiger, 
flung  himself  forward.  It  was  what  he  had  foreseen, 
what  had  made  him  hold  his  tongue. 

The  savage  in  Reivers  had  made  him  reach  for  the 
weapon;  the  calmly  reasoning  brain  in  Toppy's  head 
had  foreseen  that  in  that  lay  his  advantage.  It  was 
for  only  an  instant,  a  few  eye-winks,  that  Reivers 
paused  and  bent  over  for  the  axe;  but  as  Toppy  had 
flung  himself  forward  at  the  psychological  moment 
it  was  enough.  Reivers  was  bent  over  with  his  hand 
on  the  axe,  and  for  a  flash  he  had  left  the  spot  behind 
his  left  ear  exposed. 

Toppy's  fist,  swung  from  far  behind  him,  struck  the 
spot  with  the  sound  of  a  pistol  crack.  Reivers,  stooped 
as  he  was,  rolled  over  and  over  and  lay  still.  Toppy 
first  picked  up  the  axe  and  threw  it  far  out  of  reach. 
Then  he  turned  to  Reivers,  who  was  rising  slowly,  a 
string  of  foul  curses  on  his  lips. 

Toppy  set  himself  as  the  Snow-Burner  came  for- 
ward. His  left  lifted  Reivers  from  his  feet.  Even 
while  he  was  in  the  air,  Toppy's  right  followed  on 
the  jaw.  The  Snow-Burner  wavered.  Then  Toppy, 
drawing  a  long  breath,  called  into  play  all  the  strength 
he  had  been  saving.  He  struck  and  struck  again  so 
rapidly  that  the  eye  could  not  follow,  and  each  blow 
found  its  mark ;  and  each  was  of  deadly  power. 

He  drove  Reivers  backward.  He  drove  him  as  he 
willed.  He  beat  him  till  he  saw  Reivers'  eyes  grow 


The  Fight  161 

glassy.  Then  he  stepped  back.  The  almost  superhu- 
man strength  of  Reivers  had  kept  him  on  his  feet 
until  now  in  spite  of  the  pitiless  storm  of  blows.  Now 
he  swayed  back  and  forth  once.  His  breath  came 
in  gasps.  His  arms  fell  inert,  his  eyes  closed  slowly; 
and  as  a  great  tree  falls — slowly  at  first,  then  with  a 
sudden  crash — the  Snow-Burner  toppled  and  fell  face 
downward  on  the  ground. 


CHAPTER   XX 
TOPPY'S  WAY 

TOPPY  stood  and  looked  down  at  his  vanquished 
foe.  The  convulsive  rise  and  fall  of  his  breast 
as  he  panted  for  breath  told  how  desperately  and 
savagely  he  had  fought.  Now  as  he  stood  victorious 
and  looked  down  upon  the  man  he  had  conquered,  the 
chivalry  innate  in  him  began  to  stir  with  respect  and 
even  pity  for  the  man  whom  he  had  beaten.  He  looked 
at  Reivers'  bloody  face  as,  the  head  turned  on  one 
side,  it  lay  nuzzled  helplessly  against  the  soft  ground. 
A  wave  of  revulsion,  the  aftermath  of  his  fury,  passed 
over  him,  and  he  drew  his  hand  slowly  across  his  eyes 
as  if  to  shut  out  the  sight  of  the  havoc  that  his  fists 
had  wrought. 

And  now  happened  the  inevitable.  Toppy  had  not 
foreseen  it,  never  had  dreamed  it  possible.  But  now 
the  men  who  had  watched  cried  aloud  their  hatred  of 
the  big  man  who  lay  before  them.  The  king-man, 
their  master,  was  down!  Upright,  they  would  have 
quailed  before  his  mere  look.  But  now  he  was  down! 
The  man  who  had  mastered  them,  broken  them, 
tortured  them,  lay  helpless  there  before  them.  The 
courage  and  hate  of  slaves  suddenly  in  power  over 
their  master  flamed  through  them.  This  was  their 
chance;  they  had  him  now. 

"We  got  him !  Kill  him !  Come  on !  Finish  him !" 
they  roared,  and  threw  themselves  like  a  pack  of 
wolves  upon  the  prostrate  man.  Even  as  they  rushed 
Reivers  raised  his  head  in  returning  consciousness; 

162 


Toppy's  Way  163 

then  he  went  down  under  a  shower  of  heavily  booted 
feet. 

With  a  bellow  of  command  Toppy  flung  himself 
forward.  He  knew  quite  well  that  this  was  what 
Reivers  deserved ;  he  had  even  at  times  hoped  that  the 
men  some  time  would  have  the  opportunity  for  such 
revenge.  But  now  he  discovered  that  he  couldn't 
stand  by  and  see  it  done.  It  wasn't  in  him.  Reivers 
was  down,  fairly  beaten  in  a.  hard  fight.  He  was 
helpless.  Toppy's  rage  suddenly  swerved  from  Reivers 
to  the  men  who  were  trying  to  kick  the  life  out  of  him. 

"Back!     Get  back  there,  I  say!"  he  ordered. 

He  reached  in  and  threw  men  right  and  left.  He 
knocked  others  down.  One  he  picked  up  and  used 
as  a  battering-ram,  and  so  he  fought  his  way  in  and 
cleared  the  rabble  away  from  Reivers.  Reivers  with 
more  than  human  tenaciousness  had  retained  a  glim- 
mer of  consciousness.  He  saw  Toppy  standing  astride 
of  him  fighting  for  his  life.  And  in  that  beaten, 
desperate  moment  Reivers  laughed  once  more. 

"You're  a fool,  Treplin,"  said  he.  "You'd 

better  let  them  finish  the  job." 

Toppy  dragged  him  to  his  feet.  A  gleam  of  mas- 
tery flashed  over  the  Snow-Burner  as  he  felt  him- 
self standing  upright.  He  swung  to  face  the  men. 

"Out  of  the  way  there,  you  scum!"  he  ordered,  in 
his  old  manner.  The  men  laughed  in  reply.  The 
spell  had  been  broken.  The  men  had  seen  the  Snow- 
Burner  knocked  down  and  beaten.  They  had  seen  that 
Toppy  was  his  master.  They  had  kicked  him;  they 
had  had  him  under  them.  No  longer  did  he  stand 
apart  and  above  them.  They  cursed  him  and  swarmed 
in,  striking,  kicking,  hauling,  and  dragged  him  to  the 
ground. 

"Give  him  to  us,  bahss!"  they  cried.  "Let  us  kill 
him,  bahss!" 


164  The  Snow-Burner 

Some  of  them  hung  back.  They  did  not  wish  to  run 
contrary  to  the  wishes  of  Toppy,  their  "bahss"  and 
champion.  Toppy  once  more  got  Reivers  on  his  feet 
and  dragged  him  toward  the  gate.  A  knife  or  two 
gleamed  in  the  crowd. 

"Run  for  the  gate!"  cried  Toppy.  Reivers  tot- 
tered a  few  steps  and  fell.  Over  him  Toppy  stormed, 
fought,  commanded,  but  the  mob  pressed  constantly 
closer.  Then,  suddenly,  they  stopped  striking.  They 
began  to  break.  Toppy,  looking  around  for  the  rea- 
son, saw  Campbell  and  a  guard  running  toward  them 
— Campbell  with  his  big  revolver,  the  guard  with  his 
gun  at  a  ready.  With  a  last  tremendous  effort  he 
picked  Reivers  up  in  his  arms  and  ran  to  meet  them. 
He  heard  the  guard  fire  once,  heard  Campbell  ordering 
the  men  to  stand  back;  then  he  staggered  out  of  the 
stockade  and  dropped  his  heavy  burden  on  the  ground. 
Behind  him  Campbell  and  the  guard  slammed  shut 
the  gate,  and  within  the  cries  and  curses  of  the  men 
rose  in  one  awful  wail,  the  cry  of  a  blood-mob  cheated 
of  its  prey. 

Reivers  rose  slowly,  first  to  his  hands  and  knees, 
then  to  his  feet.  He  looked  at  Toppy,  and  the  only 
expression  upon  his  face  was  a  sneer. 

"You  fool!"  he  laughed.  "You  poor  weak 

sister!  You'll  be  sorry  before  morning  that  you  didn't 
let  the  men  finish  that  job!" 

He  turned,  and  without  another  word  went  stag- 
gering away  to  the  building  where  he  and  the  guards 
lived. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

THE   END   OF   THE    BOSS 

BACK  in  the  shop  Campbell  went  to  work  with  a 
will  to  doctor  up  Toppy's  battered  face. 

"I  dunno,  lad,  I  dunno,"  he  muttered  as  he  patched 
up  the  ragged  cuts.  "It  was  the  poetry  of  justice 
that  the  men  should  have  had  him,  but  I  dunno  that 
I  could  ha'  left  him  lie  there  myself." 

''Of  course  you  couldn't,"  said  Toppy.  "A  man 
can't  do  that  sort  of  thing.  But,  say,  Campbell,  what 
do  you  suppose  he  meant  about  being  sorry  before 
morning  because  I  saved  him?" 

Although  he  had  won  in  the  contest  which  he  had 
so  longed  for,  although  he  had  proved  and  knew  that 
he  was  a  better  man  than  Reivers,  Toppy  for  some 
reason  experienced  none  of  the  elation  which  he  had 
expected.  The  thing  wasn't  settled.  Reivers  was  still 
fighting.  He  was  still  boss  of  Hell  Camp.  He  was 
fighting  with  craft  now.  What  had  that  final  threat 
meant  ? 

"It  has  to  do  with  the  lass ;  I'll  wager  on  that,"  said 
Campbell.  "He  will  aye  be  taking  his  revenge  on 
her.  I  know  the  man ;  he  has  that  way." 

"The  dog!" 

"Aye. — Hold  still  wi'  that  ear  now. — Aye;  it's  the 
way  of  the  man,  as  I  know  him.  But  I'm  thinking 
some  one  else  will  play  dog,  too.  Watchdog,  I  mean. 
And  I'm  thinking  the  same  will  be  mysel'." 

"You  don't  think  he'll  try " 

165 


166  The  Snow-Burner 

"The  Snow-Burner  will  try  anything  if  his  mind's 
set.  Even  force. — Hold  still  wi'  your  chin. — You 
licked  him  fair,  lad.  'Twas  a  great  fight.  You're  best 
man.  But  I'm  glad  I  have  my  shooting-utensil  handy, 
for  if  I'm  any  judge  Hell  Camp  will  aye  deserve  its 
name  to-night." 

"What  do  you  think  will  happen?" 

"  Tis  hard  to  say.  But  'tis  sure  Reivers  means  to 
do  something  desperate,  and  as  I  know  the  man  'tis 
something  that  concerns  the  lass.  Then  there  are  the 
men.  They  have  tasted  blood.  They  have  seen  the 
Snow-Burner  beaten.  His  grip  has  been  torn  off  them. 
They're  no  longer  afraid.  When  the  working  gangs 
come  in  this  noon  and  hear  the  story  there'll  be  noth- 
ing can  hold  them  from  doing  what  they  please.  You 
know  what  that  will  be.  They're  wild  to  break  loose. 
Gi'n  they  lay  hands  on  Reivers  they'll  tear  him  and 
the  camp  to  pieces.  Aye,  there'll  be  things  stirring 
here  before  evening,  or  I'm  a  dolt." 

True  to  Campbell's  prediction,  the  stockade  shook 
with  cheers,  roars  and  curses  that  noon  when  the 
working  men  came  in  and  heard  the  tale  of  the  Snow- 
Burner's  downfall.  The  discipline  of  the  camp  van- 
ished with  those  shouts.  The  men  were  no  longer 
cowed.  They  were  free  and  unafraid.  After  they  had 
eaten,  the  straw-bosses  and  guards  prepared  to  lead 
them  back  to  their  work. 

The  men  laughed.  The  bosses  joined  them.  The 
guards  threatened.  The  men  jeered.  Reivers,  the 
only  force  that  had  kept  them  cowed,  was  lying  beaten 
and  helpless  in  his  bunk,  and  not  even  the  shotguns 
of  the  guards  could  cow  the  fierce  spirit  that  had 
broken  loose  in  the  men  when  they  heard  this  news. 

"Shoot,  —  -  you,  shoot!"  they  jeered  at  the  guards. 
The  guards  faltered.  The  whole  camp  was  in  revolt 
and  they  knew  that  as  sure  as  one  shot  was  fired  the 


The  End  of  the  Boss  167 

men  would  rush  at  no  matter  how  great  the  cost 
to  themselves.  There  were  a  hundred  and  fifty  mad- 
dened, desperate  men  in  the  camp  now,  instead  of  a 
hundred  and  fifty  cattle ;  and  the  guards,  minus  Reiv- 
ers' leadership,  retreated  to  their  quarters  and  locked 
the  door. 

The  men  did  not  go  back  to  work.  Not  an  axe,  pea- 
vey  or  cant-hook  was  touched ;  not  a  team  was  hitched 
up.  The  men  swaggered  and  shouted  for  Reivers 
to  come  out  and  boss  them.  They  begged  him  to  come 
out.  They  waftted  to  talk  with  him,  They  had  a  lot 
to  tell  him.  They  wouldn't  hurt  him — no,  they  would 
only  give  him  a  little  of  his  own  medicine ! 

However,  they  gave  the  guards'  house  a  wide  berth, 
on  account  of  the  deadly  shotguns.  The  short  after- 
noon passed  quickly  and  the  darkness  came  on. 

Toppy  and  Campbell  were  sitting  down  to  supper 
when  they  noticed  that  it  was  unusually  light  in  the 
direction  of  the  stockade.  Presently  there  was  a  roar- 
ing crackling;  then  a  chorus  of  cries,  demonlike  in 
their  ferocity.  Toppy  sprang  to  the  window  and  stag- 
gered back  at  the  sight  that  met  his  eyes. 

"Great  Scot,  Campbell!  Look,  look!"  he  cried. 
'They've  fired  the  camp!" 

Together  they  rushed  to  the  door.  From  the  farther 
end  of  the  stockade  a  billow  of  red,  pitchy  flame  was 
sweeping  up  into  the  night,  and  the  roar  and  crackle 
of  the  dried  pine  logs  burning  was  drowned  in  the 
cries  of  the  men  as  they  cheered  the  results  of  their 
handiwork. 

Toppy  and  Campbell  ran  toward  the  stockade  gate. 
The  gate  had  been  chopped  to  pieces,  but  the  guards, 
from  the  shelter  of  their  building,  were  shooting  at  the 
opening  and  preventing  the  men  from  rushing  out. 
The  flames  at  the  far  end  of  the  stockade  rose  higher 
and  fiercer  as  they  began  to  get  their  hold  on  the  pitchy 


i68  The  Snow-Burner 

wood.  The  smoke,  billowing  low,  came  driving  back 
into  the  faces  of  Campbell  and  Toppy. 

"They've  done  it  up  brown  now !"  swore  Campbell. 
"The  wind's  this  way.  The  whole  camp  will  go  unless 
yon  fire's  checked." 

Over  the  front  of  the  stockade  something  flew 
through  the  darkness,  its  parabola  marked  by  a  string 
of  sparks  that  spluttered  behind  it.  It  fell  near  one 
side  of  the  guards'  quarters.  A  second  later  it  ex- 
ploded with  a  noise  and  shock  that  shook  the  whole 
camp. 

"Dynamite,"  said  Scotty.  "The  men  have  been 
stealing  it  and  saving  it  for  this  occasion.  Gi'n  one 
of  those  sticks  lands  on  that  building  there'll  be  dead 
men  inside." 

But  the  men  inside  evidently  had  no  mind  to  wait 
for  such  a  catastrophe.  They  came  rushing  out  in 
the  darkness,  slipping  quickly  out  of  sight,  yet  firing 
at  the  gate  as  they  went.  One  of  them  rushed  past 
Toppy  in  the  direction  of  the  office.  Toppy  scarcely 
noticed  him.  On  second  thought  something  about 
the  man's  great  size,  his  broad  shoulders,  the  hang  of 
his  arms,  attracted  him.  He  turned  to  look ;  the  man 
had  vanished  in  the  dark.  A  vague  uneasiness  took 
possession  of  Toppy.  For  a  moment  he  stood  puzzled. 

"My !"  he  cried  suddenly.  "That  was  Reivers, 

and  he  was  going  to  her !" 

He  started  in  pursuit.  Reivers  was  pounding  on 
the  door  of  the  office  when  Toppy  reached  him.  The 
door  was  locked. 

"Open  up;  open  up  at  once!"  he  ordered.  Beyond 
the  door  Toppy  heard  the  voice  of  the  girl. 

"Oh,  please,  please,  Mr.  Reivers!    I'm  afraid!" 

Reivers'  tone  changed. 

"Nothing  to  be  afraid  of,  Miss  Pearson,"  he  said 


The  End  of  the  Boss          169 

blandly.  "There's  a  fire  in  camp.  I  want  to  get  in  to 
save  the  books  and  papers." 

"Is  that  why  you  sent  Tilly  away  this  morning?" 
said  Toppy  quietly,  coming  up  behind  him. 

Reivers  turned  with  a  start. 

"Hello,  Treplin!"  he  said,  recovering  himself  in- 
stantly. "No  hard  feelings,  I  hope."  His  manner  was 
so  at  ease  that  Toppy  was  thrown  off  his  guard. 

"I  won't  make  the  mistake  of  fighting  with  you  any 
more,  Treplin,"  continued  Reivers.  "Look  at  the  way 
you've  spoiled  my  nose.  You  ought  to  fix  that  up  for 
me.  Look  at  it." 

He  came  closer  and  pointed  with  two  fingers  to 
his  broken  nose.  Toppy,  unsuspecting,  leaned  for- 
ward. Before  he  could  move  head  or  arms  Reivers' 
two  hands  had  shot  out  and  fastened  like  two  iron 
claws  upon  his  unprotected  throat. 

"Now, you !"  hissed  Reivers.  "Tear  me  loose 

or  kiss  your  life  good-by." 

And  Toppy  tried  to  tear  him  loose — tried  with  a 
desperation  born  of  the  sudden  knowledge  that  his 
life  depended  upon  it;  and  failed.  The  Snow-Burner 
had  got  his  death-hold.  His  arms  were  like  bars  of 
steel;  his  fingers  yielded  no  more  to  Toppy's  tugging 

than  claws  of  moulded  iron.  "Struggle,  you! 

Fight, you !"  hissed  Reivers.  "That's  right ;  die 

hard ;  for,  by ,  you're  done  now !" 

The  eyes  seemed  starting  from  Toppy's  head.  His 
brains  seemed  to  be  bursting.  He  felt  a  strange  empti- 
ness in  his  chest.  Things  went  red,  then  they  began 
to  go  black.  He  made  one  final  futile  attempt.  He 
felt  his  legs  sinking,  felt  his  whole  body  sagging,  felt 
that  the  end  had  come;  then  heard  as  if  far  away  the 
office-door  fly  open,  heard  the  girl  crying 

"Stop,  Mr.  Reivers,  or  I'll  shoot !" 

Then  the  roar  of  a  shot.    He  felt  the  hands  loosen 


170  The  Snow-Burner 

on  his  throat,  swayed  and  fell  sidewise  as  the  whole 
world  turned  black. 

He  opened  his  eyes  soon  and  saw  by  the  light  of  the 
rising  flames  that  Campbell  was  running  toward  him. 
In  the  doorway  of  the  office  stood  the  girl,  her  left 
hand  over  her  eyes,  Campbell's  big  black  revolver  in 
her  right.  Down  the  road,  with  strange,  drunken 
steps,  Reivers  was  running  toward  the  river.  Behind 
him  ran  half  a  dozen  men  armed  with  axes  screaming 
his  name  in  rage,  but  Reivers,  despite  his  queer  gait, 
was  distancing  his  pursuers.  It  was  some  time  before 
Toppy  grasped  the  significance  of  these  sights.  Then 
he  remembered. 

"You — you  saved  me,"  he  said  clumsily,  rising  to 
his  feet.  The  girl  dropped  the  revolver  and  burst  into 
a  fit  of  sobbing. 

'  'Twas  aye  handy  I  thought  of  giving  her  the  gun 
and  telling  her  to  keep  the  door  locked,"  said  Camp- 
bell. "Do  you  go  in,  lassie.  All's  well.  Go  in." 

"Eh?  What's  this?"  he  cried,  for  in  spite  of  her 
sobbing  she  drew  sharply  away  from  his  sheltering 
arm  as  he  tried  to  usher  her  indoors. 

The  smoke  from  the  fire  swept  down  into  their 
faces  in  a  choking  cloud.  Toppy  looked  toward  the 
stockade.  By  this  time  the  whole  end  of  the  great 
building  was  in  flames.  The  men  in  pursuit  of  Reivers 
were  howling  as  they  gained  on  their  quarry,  and 
Toppy  lurched  after  them. 

"Bob!     Mr.  Treplin!" 

Toppy  stopped. 

"I  mean — Mr.  Treplin — you — don't  go  down  there 
— you're  hurt — please !" 

Toppy  moved  toward  her.  Was  it  true?  Was  it 
really  there  the  note  in  her  voice  that  he  yearned 
to  hear? 


The  End  of  the  Boss          171 

"What  did  you  say — please?"  he  stammered. 

And  now  it  was  her  turn  to  be  confused.  The  sobs 
came  back  to  her.  Toppy  took  a  long  breath  and 
nerved  himself  to  desperation. 

"Helen!"  he  said  hoarsely. 

"Bob!  Oh,  Bob!"  she  whispered.  "Don't  leave 
me — don't  leave  me  alone." 

Once  more  Toppy  filled  his  lungs  with  air  and 
ground  his  teeth  in  desperate  resolution.  He  tried 
to  speak,  but  only  a  gurgling  sound  came  from  his 
throat;  so  he  held  out  his  big  arms  in  mute  appeal, 
and  suddenly  he  found  himself  whispering  incoherently 
at  a  little  blonde  head  which  lay  snuggled  in  great 
content  against  his  bosom. 

A  maddened  yell  came  from  the  men  who  were 
after  Reivers.  But  Toppy  and  the  girl  might  have 
been  a  thousand  miles  away  for  all  the  attention  they 
paid.  One  end  of  the  stockade  fell  in  with  a  great 
roar  and  a  shower  of  flame  and  sparks ;  but  the  twain 
did  not  hear. 

"Aye,  aye!"  Old  Campbell  moved  swiftly  away. 
"He's  a  grown  man  now,  and  so  he's  a  right  to  have 
his  woman. — Aye.  A  real  man  he  had  to  be  to  take 
her  away  from  the  Snow-Burner." 

Down  by  the  river  the  pursuing  men  gave  tongue 
to  a  cry  with  the  note  of  the  wolf  in  it.  , 

Campbell  turned  from  the  young  couple  and  stared 
with  gleaming  eyes  in  the  direction  whence  came  the 
cry. 

"Ah,  Reivers !"  he  murmured.  "Ye  great  man  gone 
wrong!  How  goes  it  with  ye  now,  Reivers?  Can  ye 
win  through?  Can  ye?  I  wonder — I  wonder!" 

And  as  Toppy  and  Helen,  holding  closely  to  one 
another,  entered  the  office  building,  the  old  man  has- 
tened to  join  the  throng  by  the  river  where  the  fate  of 
the  Snow-Burner  was  being  spun. 


PART  TWO:  THE    SUPERMAN 


PART  TWO:  THE  SUPERMAN 

CHAPTER  XXII 

THE  CHEATING  OF  THE    RIVER 

IT'S  got  him!  The  river's  got  him.  He's 
drowned!  'Hell-Camp'  Reivers — he's  gone. 
He's  done  for.  The  'Snow-Burner'  is  dead,  dead 
dead!" 

Like  wolves  in  revolt  the  men  of  "Hell  Camp"  lined 
the  bank  of  the  rushing,  ice-choked  river  and  cursed 
and  roared  into  the  blackness  of  the  night.  Behind 
them  the  buildings  of  the  camp,  scene  of  the  Snow- 
Burner's  inhuman  brutality  and  dominance  over  the 
lives  of  men,  were  going  up  in  seas  of  flame  which  they 
had  started. 

Before  them  the  tumultuous  river,  the  waters  bat- 
tling the  ice  which  strove  to  cover  it,  tossed  black  and 
white  under  the  red  glow  of  tumbling  fire.  And  some- 
where out  in  the  murderous  current,  whirled  and 
sucked  down  by  the  rushing  water,  buffeted  and 
crushed  by  the  grinding  ice,  a  bullet-hole  through  his 
shoulder,  was  all  that  was  left  of  the  man  whose  life 
they  had  cried  for. 

The  river  had  cheated  them.  Like  panting  wolves, 
their  hands  outstretched  claw-like  to  clutch  and  kill, 
they  had  pursued  him  closely  to  the  river's  edge.  A 
cry  of  rage,  short,  sharp,  unreasoning,  had  leaped 

I7S 


176  The  Snow-Burner 

from  their  throats  as  Reivers,  staggering  from  his 
wound,  had  leaped  unhesitatingly  out  on  to  the  heav- 
ing cakes  of  ice. 

Spellbound,  open-mouthed  and  silent,  they  had  stood 
and  watched  as  their  erstwhile  oppressor  ran  zigzag- 
ging, leaping  from  cake  to  cake,  out  toward  the  black 
slip  of  open  water  which  ran  silently,  swiftly  in  the 
river's  middle.  And  then  they  had  cried  out  again. 

For  the  open  water  had  caught  him.  Straight  into 
it,  without  pausing  or  swerving,  Reivers  had  run  on. 
And  the  black  water  had  taken  him  home.  Like  a 
stone  dropped  into  its  midst,  it  had  taken  him  plump — 
a  flirt  of  spray,  a  gurgle.  Then  the  waters  rushed 
on  as  before,  silent,  deadly,  unconcerned. 

And  so  the  men  of  Hell  Camp,  drunk  with  the  spirit 
and  success  of  their  revolt,  cried  out  in  triumph.  Their 
cry  rose  over  the  roar  of  flame.  It  rang  above  the 
rumble  of  crunching  ice.  It  reached,  paean-like,  up 
through  the  star-filled  northern  night — a  cry  of  vic- 
tory, of  gratification,  the  old,  terrible  cry  of  the  kill. 

For  the  Snow-Burner  was  gone.  Wolf -like  he  had 
harried  them  and  wolf-like  he  had  died.  No  man,  not 
even  Hell-Camp  Reivers,  they  knew,  could  live  a  min- 
ute in  that  black  water.  They  had  seen  the  .waters 
close  above  him;  a  floe  of  ice  swept  serenely  over 
the  spot  where  he  had  gone  down.  He  was  gone.  The 
world  was  rid  of  him. 

And  so  the  men  of  Cameron-Dam  Camp,  while  their 
cry  still  echoed  in  the  timber,  turned  to  carry  the  news 
of  the  Snow-Burner's  end  back  to  the  men  who  were 
milling  about  the  burning  camp.  The  Snow-Burner 
was  dead ! 

Out  in  the  deadly  river,  Hell-Camp  Reivers  stayed 
under  water  until  he  knew  that  the  men  on  the  bank 
counted  him  drowned.  He  had  sought  the  open  water 
deliberately,  his  giant  lungs  filling  themselves  with  air 


The  Cheating  of  the  River      177 

as  he  plunged  down  to  the  superhuman  test  which 
was  to  spell  life  or  death  for  him. 

He  realised  that  if  he  were  to  live  he  must  appear  to 
perish  in  the  river,  before  the  eyes  of  the  men  who 
pursued  him.  To  have  won  through  the  open  water, 
and  over  the  ice  beyond,  and  in  their  sight  have 
reached  the  farther  shore  would  have  sealed  his  doom 
as  surely  as  to  have  returned  to  the  bank  where 
stood  the  men. 

The  camp  had  revolted.  Two  hundred  men  had 
said  that  he  must  die;  and  had  he  been  seen  to  cross 
the  river  and  enter  the  timber  beyond,  half  of  the 
two  hundred,  properly  armed,  would  have  crossed  the 
stringers  of  the  dam,  not  to  pause  or  rest  until  they 
had  hunted  him  down.  He  was  without  weapons 
of  any  kind  save  his  bare  fists.  He  was  bleeding 
heavily  from  the  bullet-hole  in  his  right  shoulder.  He 
would  have  died  like  a  wounded  wolf  run  to  earth  had 
he  been  seen  to  cross  the  river  safely.  His  only  chance 
for  life  was  to  appear  to  die  in  the  river. 

He  made  no  fight  as  he  went  down.  The  swift 
waters  sucked  him  under  like  a  straw.  They  rolled 
him  over  the  rocky  bottom,  whirled  him  around  and 
around  sunken  piles  of  ice.  Into  the  sluice-like  cur- 
rent of  the  stream's  middle  they  spewed  him,  and  the 
current  caught  him  and  shot  him  into  the  darkness 
below  the  glare  of  the  burning  camp. 

He  lay  inert  in  the  water's  grasp,  recking  not  how 
the  sharp  ice  gashed  and  tore  face  and  hands,  how 
the  rocks  crushed  and  bruised  his  body.  A  sweeping 
ice-floe  caught  him  and  held  him  down.  Like  some 
great  river-beast  he  lay  supine  beneath  it,  conserv- 
ing every  atom  of  his  giant's  strength  for  the  test 
that  was  to  win  him  life. 

Then,  with  the  blood  roaring  in  his  temples,  and 
his  bursting  lungs  warning  him  that  the  next  second 


i78 


The  Snow-Burner 


must  yield  him  air  or  death,  he  threw  his  body  up- 
ward against  the  ice,  felt  it  slip  to  one  side,  thrust  his 
upturned  face  out  of  the  water,  caught  a  finger-hold 
on  another  floe  that  strove  to  thrust  him  down,  gasped, 
clawed  and — laughed. 

He  was  a  dead  man,  and  he  lived.  Men  had  driven 
him  into  the  jaws  of  death,  and  death  had  engulfed 
and  apparently  swallowed  him.  Men  counted  him 
now  as  one  who  had  gone  hence.  Far  and  wide  the 
word  would  be  flung  in  a  hurry:  the  Snow-Burner 
was  no  more ;  Hell-Camp  Reivers  had  passed  away. 

The  face  of  the  Snow-Burner  as  it  rode  barely  above 
the  icy,  lapping  waters,  bore  but  one  single  expression, 
a  sardonic  appreciation  of  the  joke  he  had  played 
upon  men  and  Death.  The  loss  of  Cameron  Camp, 
of  his  position,  of  all  that  he  called  his  own  did  not 
trouble  him. 

As  the  current  swept  him  down  there,  he  was  a 
beaten  man,  stripped  of  all  the  things  that  men  struggle 
for  to  have  and  to  hold,  and  with  but  a  slippery  finger- 
hold on  life  itself.  Yet  he  was  victorious,  triumphant. 

He  had  placed  himself  within  the  clammy  fingers 
of  the  River  Death.  The  fingers  had  closed  upon  him, 
and  he  had  torn  them  apart,  had  thrust  death  away, 
had  clutched  life  as  it  fleeted  from  him  and  had  drawn 
it  back  to  hold  for  the  time  being.  And  Reivers 
laughed  contemptuously,  tauntingly,  at  the  sucking 
waters  cheated  of  their  prey. 

"Not  yet,  Nick,  old  boy,"  he  muttered.  "It  doesn't 
please  me  to  boss  your  stokers  just  yet." 

The  current  tore  the  ice  from  his  precarious  grip 
and  he  was  forced  to  swim  for  it.  In  the  darkness  he 
struck  the  grinding  icefield  on  the  far  side  of  the  open 
water,  and  like  the  claws  of  a  bear  his  stiffening  fingers 
sought  for  and  found  a  crevice  to  afford  a  secure  hold. 

A  pull,  a  heave  and  a  wriggle,  and  he  lay  face- 


The  Cheating  of  the  River      179 

down  on  the  jagged  ice — heart,  lungs  and  brain  crying 
for  the  cold  air  which  he  sucked  in  avidly.  The  ice- 
cakes  parted  beneath  his  weight.  Once  more  he  fought 
through  the  water  to  a  resting  place  on  the  ice;  once 
more  the  treacherous  ice  parted  and  dropped  him  into 
the  water. 

Swimming,  crawling,  wriggling  his  way,  he  fought 
on.  At  last  an  outstretched  hand  groped  to  a  hold  on  a 
snow-covered  root  on  the  far  bank  of  the  river. 

"About  time,"  he  said  and,  slowly  drawing  himself 
up  onto  the  bank,  he  rolled  over  in  the  snow  and  lay 
with  his  face  turned  back  toward  Cameron  Camp. 

The  fire  which  the  men  had  started  in  the  long 
bunk-house  when  they  had  revolted  against  the  in- 
humanity of  Reivers  now  had  gained  full  headway. 
In  pitchy,  red  billows  of  flame  the  dried  log  walls 
were  roaring  upward  into  the  night.  Like  the  yipping 
of  maddened  demons,  the  bellowing  shouts  of  the  men 
came  back  to  him  as  they  danced  and  leaped  around 
the  fire  in  celebration  of  the  passing  of  Reivers  and 
of  the  camp  for  which  his  treatment  of  men  had  justly 
earned  the  title  of  Hell  Camp. 

But  louder  and  more  poignant  even  than  the  roar  of 
flame  and  the  shouts  of  jubilant  men,  there  came  to 
Reivers'  ears  a  sound  which  prompted  him  to  drag 
himself  to  an  elbow  to  listen.  Somewhere  out  in  the 
timber  near  the  camp  a  man  was  crying  for  mercy.  A 
rifle  cracked;  the  pleading  stopped.  Reivers  smiled 
contemptuously. 

"One  of  the  guards;  they  got  him,"  he  mused. 
"The  fool !  That's  what  he  gets  for  being  silly  enough 
to  be  faithful  to  me." 

But  the  fate  of  the  guard,  one  of  the  "shot-gun 
artists"  who  had  served  him  faithfully  and  brutally  in 
the  task  of  keeping  the  men  of  the  camp  helpless 
.under  his  heel,  roused  Reivers  to  the  need  of  quick 


180  The  Snow-Burner 

action.  If  the  guards  had  escaped  into  the  woods 
and  were  being  hunted  down  by  the  maddened  crew, 
the  hunt  might  easily  lead  across  the  dam  and  up  the 
bank  to  where  he  lay.  Once  let  it  be  known  that  he 
had  not  perished  in  the  river,  and  the  whole  camp 
would  come  swarming  across  the  dam,  each  man's 
hand  against  him,  resolved  to  take  his  trail  and  hunt 
him  down,  no  matter  where  the  trail  might  lead  or 
how  long  the  hunt  might  take. 

The  fight  through  the  river  ice  was  but  the  pre- 
liminary to  his  flight  for  safety.  Many  miles  of  cold 
trail  between  him  and  the  burning  camp  were  his  most 
urgent  present  needs,  and  with  a  curse  he  staggered 
to  his  feet  and  stood  for  a  moment  lowering  back 
across  the  water  to  the  scene  of  his  overthrow. 

To  a  lesser  man — or  a  better  man — there  would  have 
been  deep  humiliation  in  the  situation.  Reivers's 
mind  flashed  back  over  the  incidents  of  the  last  few 
hours.  Over  there,  across  the  river,  he  had  been 
beaten  for  the  first  time  in  his  life  in  a  fair,  stand-up 
fist  fight.  He  had  underestimated  young  Treplin, 
and  Treplin  had  beaten  him. 

Following  his  defeat  had  come  the  revolt  of  the  men. 
Following  that  had  come  flight.  The  power  and  lead- 
ership of  the  camp  had  been  wrested  from  his  hands 
by  a  better  man;  he  himself  had  been  driven  out, 
helpless,  beaten,  yet  Reivers  only  laughed  as  he  stood 
now  and  looked  back  across  the  river.  For  in  the 
river  the  Snow-Burner  had  died. 

The  past  was  dead.  A  new  life  was  beginning 
for  him.  It  had  to  be  so,  for  if  word  went  back 
that  the  Snow-Burner  was  still  alive  the  men  of  Cam- 
eron-Dam Camp  would  come  clamouring  to  the  hunt. 
To  die,  and  yet  to  live;  to  slough  one  life,  as  an  old 
coat,  and  to  take  up  another,  not  having  the  slight- 
est notion  of  what  it  might  hold — that  was  the  great 


The  Cheating  of  the  River      181 

adventure,  that  was  something  so  interesting  that  the 
humiliation  of  defeat  never  so  much  as  reached  be- 
neath Reivers'  skin. 

He  stood  for  a  moment,  looking  back  at  the  camp, 
and  he  smiled.  He  waved  his  left  hand  in  a  polished 
gesture  of  contemptuous  farewell. 

"Good-by,  Mr.  Hell-Camp  Reivers,"  he  growled. 
"Hello,  Mr.  New  Man,  whoever  you  are.  Let's 
go  and  lay  up  till  the  puncture  in  your  hide  heals. 
Then  we'll  go  out  and  see  what  you  can  do  to  this 
silly  old  world." 

With  his  fingers  clutching  the  hole  in  his  shoulder, 
he  turned  and  lurched  drunkenly  away  into  the  black- 
ness of  the  thick  timber. 

The  icy  waters  of  the  river  had  been  kind  to  him  in 
more  ways  than  one.  They  had  congealed  the  warm 
blood-spurts  from  his  wound  into  a  solid  red  clot,  and 
his  thick  woolen  shirt  and  mackinaw  were  frozen  stiff 
and  tight  against  the  clot. 

He  held  to  his  staggering  run  for  an  hour,  seeking 
bare  spots  in  the  timber,  travelling  on  top  of  windfalls 
when  he  found  them,  hiding  his  trail  in  uncanny  fash- 
ion, before  his  body  grew  warm  enough  to  thaw  the 
icy  bandages.  Then  he  halted  and,  by  the  light  of 
the  cold  moon,  bared  his  shoulder  and  took  stock. 
It  was  a  bad,  ragged  wound.  He  moved  the  shoulder 
and  smiled  sardonically  as  he  noted  that  no  bone  was 
touched. 

From  the  butt  of  a  shattered  windfall  he  tore  a 
flat  sliver  of  clean  pine.  With  his  teeth  he  worried  it 
down  to  a  proper  size,  and  with  handkerchief  and  belt 
he  bound  it  over  the  wound  so  tightly  that  it  sunk 
deep  into  the  muscles  of  the  shoulder.  It  chafed  and 
cut  the  skin  and  started  the  blood  in  half  a  dozen 
places,  but  he  pulled  the  belt  up  another  hole  despite 
the  inclination  to  grimace  from  pain. 


182  The  Snow-Burner 

"Suffer,  Body,"  he  muttered,  "suffer  all  you  please. 
You've  nothing  to  say  about  this.  Your  job  for  the 
present  is  merely  to  serve  life  by  keeping  it  going. 
Later  on  you  may  grow  whole  again.  I  shall  need 
you." 

He  buttoned  his  mackinaw  with  difficulty  and,  find- 
ing an  open  space,  turned  and  took  his  bearings.  Far 
behind  him  a  dull  red  glow  on  the  sky  marked  the 
location  of  Cameron-Dam  Camp.  From  this  he 
turned,  carefully  scanning  the  heavens,  until  above  the 
top  of  the  timber  he  caught  the  weird  glint  of  the 
northern  lights.  That  way  lay  his  course. 

The  white  man's  country  stopped  with  the  timber 
in  which  he  stood.  Beyond  was  Indian  country,  the 
bleak,  barren  Dead  Lands,  a  wilderness  too  bare  of 
timber  to  tempt  the  logger,  a  land  of  ridge  upon  ridge 
of  ragged  rock,  unexplored  by  white  man,  save  for 
a  rare  mining  prospector,  and  uninhabited  save  for  the  • 
half -starved  camp  of  the  people  of  Tillie,  the  Chip- 
pewa,  Reivers'  slave,  by  the  power  of  the  love  she 
bore  him. 

White  men  shunned  the  white  wastes  of  the  Dead 
Lands  as,  in  warmer  climes,  they  shun  the  unwatered 
sands  of  the  desert.  That  was  why  Reivers  sought 
it.  Out  there  in  the  camp  of  Tillie's  people  he  could 
lie  safe,  well  fed,  well  nursed,  until  his  wound  healed 
and  the  strength  of  his  body  came  back  to  him.  And 
then  .  .  . 

"Cheer  up,  Body !"  he  chuckled  as  he  started  north- 
ward. "We'll  make  the  world  pay  bitterly  for  all  of 
this  when  we're  in  shape  again.  For  the  present 
we're  going  north,  going  north,  going  north.  You 
can't  stop,  Body;  you  can't  lay  down.  Groan  all 
you  want  to.  You're  going  to  be  dragged  just  as  far 
to-night  as  if  you  weren't  shot  up  at  all." 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

THE  GIRL  WHO  WAS  NOT  AFRAID 

BREAK  of  day  in  Winter  time  comes  to  the  Dead 
Lands  slowly  and  without  enthusiasm,  as  if  the 
rosy  morning  sun  wearied  at  the  hopeless  landscape 
which  its  rays  must  illumine.  Aimless  rock  formation 
was  a  drug  on  the  creation's  market  the  day  that  the 
Bad  Lands  were  made.  Gigantic  boulders,  box-like 
bluffs,  ragged  rock-spires,  cliffs  and  plateaus  of  bare 
rock  were  in  oversupply. 

Nature,  so  a  glimpse  of  the  place  suggests,  had 
resolved  to  get  rid  of  a  vast  surplus  of  ugly,  useless 
stone,  and  with  one  cast  of  its  hands  flung  them  solidly 
down  and  made  the  Dead  Lands.  There  they  lie, 
hog-back,  ridge,  gully  and  ravine,  hopelessly  and  aim- 
lessly jumbled  and  tumbled,  a  scene  of  desolate  grey- 
ness  by  Summer ;  by  Winter  the  raw,  bleak  ridges  and 
spires,  thrusting  themselves  through  the  covering  of 
snow  like  unto  the  bones  of  a  half  concealed  skeleton. 

Daylight  crept  wearily  over  the  timber  belt  and 
spread  itself  slowly  over  the  barrenness,  and  struck  the 
highest  rise  of  ground,  running  crosswise  through 
the  barrens,  which  men  called  "Hog-Back  Ridge." 
Little  by  little  it  lighted  up  the  bleak  peaks  and  tops 
of  ridge  and  rock-spire. 

A  wind  came  with  it,  a  bleak,  morning  Winter  wind 
which  whined  as  it  whipped  the  dry  snow  from  high 
places  and  sent  it  flying  across  coulee  and  valley  in 
the  grey  light  of  dawn.  Nothing  stirred  with  the 

183 


184  The  Snow-Burner 

coming  of  daylight.  No  nocturnal  animal,  warned 
of  the  day's  coming,  slunk  away  to  its  cave;  no  beast 
'  or  bird  of  daylight  greeted  the  morning  with  move- 
ment or  song.  The  grey  half-light  revealed  no  living 
thing  of  life  upon  the  exposed  hump  of  the  ridge. 

The  sun  came,  a  ball  of  dull  red,  rising  over  the 
timber  line.  It  touched  the  topmost  spires  of  rock, 
sought  to  gild  them  rosily,  gave  up  as  their  sullen 
sides  refused  to  take  the  colour,  and  turned  its  rays 
along  the  eastern  slope.  Then  something  moved.  A 
single  speck  of  life  stirred  in  the  vast  scene  of  deso- 
lation. 

On  the  bare  ground  in  the  lea  of  a  boulder  a  man 
sat  with  his  back  to  the  stone  and  slept.  His  face  was 
hollow  and  lined.  The  corners  of  his  mouth  were 
drawn  down  as  if  a  weight  were  hung  on  each  of  them, 
and  the  thin  cheeks,  hugging  the  bones  so  tightly  that 
the  teeth  showed  through,  told  that  the  man  had  driven 
himself  too  far  on  an  empty  stomach.  Yet,  even  in 
sleep,  there  was  a  hint  of  a  sardonic  smile  on  the  mis- 
shapen lips,  a  smile  that  condemned  and  made  nauglit 
the  pain  and  cruelty  of  his  fate. 

The  sun  crept  down  the  slope  of  Hog-Back  Ridge 
and  found  him.  It  reached  his  eyes.  Its  rays  had 
no  more  warmth  than  the  rays  of  the  cold  Winter 
moon,  but  its  light  pierced  through  the  tightly  drawn 
lids.  They  twitched  and  finally  parted.  Reivers  awoke 
without  yawning  or  moving  and  looked  around. 

It  was  the  second  morning  after  his  flight  from 
Cameron-Dam  Camp,  and  he  had  yet  to  reach  the 
Winter  camp  of  the  people1  of  Tillie  the  squaw.  Some- 
where to  the  west  it  lay.  He  would  reach  it  and  reach 
it  in  good  time,  he  swore;  but  he  had  not  had  a  bite 
of  food  in  his  mouth  for  two  days,  and  the  fever  of 
his  wound  had  sapped  heavily  his  strength. 

"Be  still,  Body,"  he  growled,  as  with  the  return 


The  Girl  Who  Was  Not  Afraid    185 

of  consciousness  his  belly  cried  out  for  food.  "You 
will  be  fed  before  life  goes  out  of  you." 

He  rose  slowly  and  stiffly  to  his  knees  and  looked 
down  the  ridge  to  where  the  rays  of  the  sun  now 
were  illumining  the  snow-covered  bottom  of  the  valley 
below.  The  valley  ran  eastward  for  a  mile  or  two, 
and  at  first  glance  it  was  empty  and  dead,  save  for 
the  flurries  of  wind-swept  snow,  dropping  down  from 
the  heights  above.  But  Reivers,  as  he  rose  to  his  feet, 
swept  the  valley  with  a  second  glance,  and  suddenly 
he  dropped  and  crouched  down  close  to  the  ground. 

Far  down  at  the  lower  end  of  the  valley  a  black 
speck  showed  on  the  frozen  snow,  and  the  speck  was 
moving. 

Reivers  lay  on  the  bare  patch  of  ground,  as  silent 
and  immovable  as  the  rock  above  him.  The  speck 
was  too  large  to  be  a  single  animal  and  too  small  to  be 
a  pack  of  travelling  caribou. 

For  several  minutes  he  lay,  scarcely  breathing,  his 
eyes  straining  to  bring  the  speck  into  comprehensible 
shape.  His  breath  began  to  come  rapidly.  Presently 
he  swore.  The  speck  had  become  two  specks  now,  a 
long  narrow  speck  and  a  tiny  one  which  moved  be- 
side it,  and  they  were  coming  steadily  up  the  valley 
toward  where  he  lay. 

"One  man  and  a  dog-team,"  mused  Reivers.  "He 
won't  be  travelling  here  without  grub.  Body,  wake 
up!  You  are  crying  for  food.  Yonder  it  comes. 
Get  ready  to  take  it." 

Slowly,  with  long  pauses  between  each  movement, 
and  taking  care  not  to  place  his  dark  body  against 
the  white  snow,  Reivers  dragged  himself  around  to 
a  hiding-place  behind  the  boulder  against  which  he 
had  slept.  The  sun  had  risen  higher  now.  Its  rays 
were  lighting  the  valley,  and  as  he  peered  avidly  around 
one  side  of  the  stone,  Reivers  could  make  out  some 


1 86  The  Snow-Burner 

detail  of  the  two  specks  that  moved  so  steadily  to- 
ward him. 

It  was  a  four-dog  team,  travelling  rapidly,  and  the 
man,  on  snow-shoes,  travelled  beside  his  team  and 
plied  his  whip  as  he  strode.  Reivers'  brows  drew 
down  in  puzzled  fashion.  The  sledge  which  whirled 
behind  the  running  dogs  seemed  flat  and  unloaded; 
the  dogs  ran  in  a  fashion  that  told  they  were  strong 
and  fresh.  Why  didn't  the  man  ride? 

Reivers  drew  back  to  take  stock  of  the  situation. 
The  man  might  be  a  stranger,  travelling  hurriedly 
through  the  Dead  Lands,  or  he  might  be  one  of  the 
men  from  Cameron-Dam  Camp.  If  the  former,  food 
might  be  had  for  a  mere  hail  and  the  asking;  if  the 
latter — Reivers's  nostrils  widened  and  he  smiled. 

Yet  a  third  possibility  existed.  The  man  was 
travelling  in  strange  fashion,  running  beside  an  appar- 
ently empty  sled,  and  whipping  his  dogs  along.  So 
did  men  travel  when  they  were  fleeing  from  various 
reasons,  and  men  fleeing  thus  do  not  go  unarmed  nor 
take  kindly  to  having  the  trail  of  their  flight  wit- 
nessed by  casual  though  starving  strangers.  Thus 
there  was  one  chance  that  a  hail  and  plea  for  food 
would  be  met  with  a  friendly  response;  two  chances 
that  they  would  be  met  with  lead  or  steel. 

Reivers,  not  being  a  careless  man,  looked  about  for 
ways  and  means  to  place  the  odds  in  his  favour.  A 
hundred  yards  to  the  north  of  him  the  valley  narrowed 
into  a  mere  slit  between  two  straight  walls  of  rock. 
Through  this  gap  the  traveller  must  pass. 

When  Reivers  had  crawled  to  a  position  on  the  rock 
directly  above  the  narrow  opening,  he  lay  flat  down 
and  grinned  in  peace.  He  was  securely  hidden,  and 
the  dog-driver  would  pass  unsuspectingly,  unready, 
thirty  feet  beneath  where  he  lay.  Things  were  look- 
ing well. 


The  Girl  Who  Was  Not  Afraid    187 

The  driver  and  team  came  on  at  a  steady  pace. 
Even  at  a  great  distance,  his  stride  betrayed  his  race 
and  Reivers  muttered,  "White  man,"  and  pushed  to 
the  edge  of  the  bluff  a  huge,  jagged  piece  of  rock. 
The  man  might  not  listen  to  reason,  and  Reivers 
was  taking  no  chances  of  allowing  an  opportunity  to 
feed  to  slip  by. 

The  sleigh  still  puzzled  him.  As  it  came  nearer 
and  nearer  he  saw  that  it  was  not  empty.  Something 
long  and  flat  lay  upon  it.  Reivers  ceased  to  watch 
the  driver  and  turned  his  scrutiny  entirely  to  the 
bundle  upon  the  sleigh.  Minute  after  minute  he 
watched  the  sleigh  to  the  exclusion  of  everything  else. 

He  made  out  eventually  that  the  bundle  was  the 
size  and  form  of  a  human  body.  Soon  he  saw  that 
it  moved  now  and  then,  as  if  struggling  to  rise. 

The  sleigh  came  nearer,  came  into  a  space  where 
the  sunlight,  streaming  through  a  gap  in  the  ridge, 
lighted  it  up  brightly,  and  Reivers'  whole  body  sud- 
denly stiffened  upon  the  ground  and  his  teeth  snapped 
shut  barely  in  time  to  cut  short  an  ejaculation  of 
surprise. 

The  bundle  on  the  sleigh  was  a  woman — a  white 
woman!  And  she  was  bound  around  from  ankle  to 
forehead  with  thongs  passed  under  the  sleigh. 

"Food — and  a  woman — a  white  woman,"  he  mused. 
"The  new  life  becomes  interesting.  Body,  get  ready." 

He  held  the  rock  balanced  on  the  edge  of  the  cliff, 
ready  to  hurl  it  down  with  one  supreme  effort  of  his 
waning  strength.  Hugging  the  cliff  he  lay,  his  head 
barely  raised  sufficiently  to  watch  his  approaching 
quarry.  He  could  make  out  the  face  of  the  man  by 
this  time,  a  square  face,  mostly  covered  with  hair,  with 
the  square-cut  hair  of  the  head  hanging  down  below 
the  ears.  Two  fang-like  teeth  glistened  in  the  sun- 
light when  the  man  opened  his  mouth  to  curse  at 


1 88  The  Snow-Burner 

the  dogs,  and  he  turned  at  times  to  leer  back  at  the 
helpless  burden  on  the  sleigh. 

As  he  approached  the  narrow  defile,  where  the  rock 
walls  hid  a  man  and  what  he  might  do  from  the 
eyes  of  all  but  the  sky  above,  the  man  turned  to  look 
more  frequently,  more  leeringly  at  his  victim.  Reivers 
saw  that  the  woman  was  gagged  as  well  as  bound. 

The  driver  shouted  a  command  at  his  dogs,  and 
their  lope  became  a  walk,  and  even  as  Reivers,  up 
on  the  cliff,  arched  his  back  to  hurl  his  stone,  the 
outfit  came  to  a  halt  directly  beneath  where  he  lay. 
Reivers  waited.  He  had  no  compunction  about  dis- 
abling or  killing  the  man  below ;  a  crying  belly  knows 
no  conscience.  But  he  would  wait  and  see  what  was 
to  develop. 

The  man  swiftly  jerked  his  team  back  in  the  traces 
and  turned  toward  his  victim.  Reivers,  turning  his 
eyes  from  the  man  to  the  woman,  received  a  shock 
which  caused  him  to  hug  closer  to  the  cliff.  The 
woman  lay  helpless  on  the  sleigh,  face  up.  A  cloth 
gag  covered  her  face  up  to  the  nose,  and  a  cap,  drawn 
down  over  the  forehead,  left  only  the  eyes  and  nose 
visible.  And  the  eyes  were  wide  open — very  wide 
open — and  they  were  looking  quite  calmly  and  un- 
afraid up  at  Reivers. 

The  driver  came  back  and  tore  the  gag  from  the 
woman's  lips. 

"I'll  give  you  a  chance,"  he  exploded,  and  Reivers, 
up  on  the  cliff,  caught  the  passion-choked  note  in 
voice  and  again  held  the  stone  ready.  "I'm  stealing 
you  for  the  chief — for  Shanty  Moir,  the  man  who's 
got  your  father's  mine,  and  who's  determined  to  put 
shame  on  you,  Red  MacGregor's  daughter.  I'm  tak- 
ing you  there  to  him — in  his  camp.  You  know  what 
that  means. 

"Well,  I've  changed  my  mind.     I — I'll  give  you  a 


The  Girl  Who  Was  Not  Afraid    189 

chance.  I'll  save  you.  Come  with  me.  I  won't  take 
you  up  there.  We'll  go  out  of  the  country.  You 
know  what  it'd  mean  to  go  up  there.  Well,  — I'll 
marry  you." 

Many  things  happened  in  the  next  few  seconds. 
The  man  threw  himself  like  a  wild  beast  beside  the 
sledge,  caught  the  woman's  face  in  his  hands  and 
kissed  her  bestially  upon  the  helpless  lips. 

The  girl  did  not  struggle  or  cry  out.  Only  her 
wide  eyes  looked  up  to  the  top  of  the  cliff,  looked 
questioningly,  speculatively,  calmly.  He  of  the  hairy 
face  caught  the  direction  of  her  look  and  sprang  up 
and  whirled  around,  the  glove  flying  from  his  right 
hand,  and  a  six-shooter  leaping  into  it  apparently 
from  nowhere. 

His  face  was  upturned,  and  he  fired  even  as  the 
big  rock  smote  him  on  the  forehead  and  crushed  him 
shapelessly  into  the  snow.  Reivers  dragged  forward 
another  stone  and  waited,  but  the  man  was  too  ob- 
viously dead  to  render  caution  necessary. 

"He  was  experienced  and  quick,"  said  Reivers  to 
the  woman,  "but  I  was  too  hungry  to  miss  him.  Did 
you  think  I  did  it  to  save  you  ?  Oh,  ho !  Just  a  min- 
ute, till  I  get  down;  you'll  know  me  better." 

He  staggered  and  fell  as  he  rose  to  pick  his  way 
down,  for  the  cast  with  the  heavy  stone  had  tapped 
the  last  reservoirs  of  his  depleted  strength,  had 
wrenched  open  the  wounded  shoulder  and  started 
the  blood.  Painfully  he  dragged  himself  on  hands 
and  knees  to  a  snow-covered  slope,  and  slipping  and 
sliding  made  his  way  to  the  valley-bottom  and  came 
staggering  up  to  the  sledge.  The  woman  to  him  for 
the  time  being  did  not  exist. 

"Steady,  Body,"  he  muttered,  as  he  tore  open  the 
grub-bag  on  the  sleigh.  "Here's  food." 

His  fingers  fell  first  on  a  huge  chunk  of  cooked 


190  The  Snow-Burner 

venison,  and  he  looked  no  farther.  Down  in  the 
snow  at  the  side  of  the  helpless  woman  he  squatted 
and  proceeded  to  eat.  Only  when  the  pang  in  his 
stomach  had  been  appeased  did  he  look  at  the  woman. 
Then,  for  a  time,  he  forgot  about  eating. 

It  was  not  a  woman  but  a  girl.  Her  face  was  fair 
and  her  hair  golden  red.  Her  big  eyes  were  looking 
at  him  appraisingly.  There  was  no  fear  in  them,  no 
apprehension.  She  noted  the  hollowness  of  his  cheeks, 
the  fever  in  his  eyes.  Reivers  almost  dropped  his 
meat  in  amazement.  The  girl  actually  was  pitying 
him! 

He  stood  up,  thrust  the  meat  back  into  the  grub-bag 
and  stood  swaying  and  towering  over  her.  The  girl's 
eyes  looked  back  unwaveringly. 

" you !"  growled  Reivers  as  he  bent  down  and 

loosed  the  thongs.  "What  do  you  mean  ?  Why  aren't 
you  afraid?" 

"MacGregor  Roy  was  my  father,"  she  said  quietly. 
"I  am  not  afraid."  She  sat  up  as  the  bonds  fell  from 
her  and  looked  at  the  still  figure  in  the  snow.  "He 
is  dead,  I  suppose?" 

"As  dead  as  he  tried  to  make  me,"  sneered  Reivers. 

A  look  of  annoyance  crossed  her  face. 

"Then  you  have  spoiled  it  all,"  she  broke  out,  leap- 
ing from  the  sledge.  "Spoiled  the  fine  chance  I  had 
to  find  the  cave  of  Shanty  Moir,  murderer  of  my 
father." 

Reivers'  jaw  dropped  in  amazement,  and  hot  anger 
surged  to  his  tongue.  Many  women  of  many  kinds 
he  had  looked  in  the  eyes  and  this  was  the  first  one — 

"Spoiled  it,  you  red-haired  trull!  What  do  you 
mean?  Didn't  I  save  you  from  our  bearded  friend 
yonder.  Or — •"  his  thin  lips  curled  into  their  old 
contemptuous  smile — "or  perhaps — perhaps  you  are 


The  Girl  Who  Was  Not  Afraid    191 

one  of  those  to  whom  such  attentions  are  not  dis- 
tasteful." 

The  sudden  flare  and  flash  of  her  anger  breaking, 
like  lightning  out  of  a  Winter's  sky,  checked  his  words. 
The  contempt  of  his  smile  gave  place  to  a  grin  of  ad- 
miration. Tottering  and  wavering  on  his  feet,  he 
did  not  stir  or  raise  his  arms,  though  the  thin-bladed 
knife  which  seemed  to  spring  into  her  hands  as  claws 
protrude  from  a  maddened  cat's  paws,  slipped  through 
his  mackinaw  and  pricked  the  skin  above  his  heart, 
before  her  hand  stopped. 

"  'Trull'  am  I  ?  The  daughter  of  MacGregor  Roy 
is  a  helpless  squaw  who  takes  kindly  to  such  words 
from  any  man  on  the  trail?  Blood  o'  my  father! 
Pray,  you  cowardly  skulker !  Pray !" 

His  grin  grew  broader. 

"Pretty,  very  pretty!"  he  drawled.  "But  you  can't 
make  it  good,  can  you?  You  thought  you  could. 
Your  little  flare  of  temper  made  you  feel  big.  You 
were  sure  you  were  going  to  stick  me.  But  you 
couldn't  do  it.  You're  a  woman.  See;  your  flash  of 
bigness  is  dying  out.  You're  growing  tame.  That's 
one  of  my  specialties — taming  spitfires  like  you.  Oh, 
you  needn't  draw  back.  Have  no  fear.  I  never  did 
have  any  taste  for  red  hair." 

A  painter  would  have  raved  about  the  daughter  of 
MacGregor  Roy  as  she  now  stood  back,  facing  her  tor- 
mentor. The  fair  skin  of  her  face  was  flushed  red, 
the  thin  sharp  lines  of  mouth  and  nostril  were  tremu- 
lous with  rage,  and  her  wide,  grey  eyes  burned.  Her 
head  was  thrown  back  in  scorn,  her  cap  was  off;  the 
glorious  red-golden  hair  of  her  head  seemed  alive 
with  fury.  With  one  foot  advanced,  the  knife  held 
behind  her,  her  breath  coming  in  angry  gasps,  she 
stood,  a  figure  passionately,  terribly  alive  in  the  dead 
waste  of  the  snows. 


192  The  Snow-Burner 

"Oh,  what  a  coward  you  are!"  she  panted.  "You 
knew  I  couldn't  avenge  myself  on  a  sick  man.  You 
coward !" 

Reivers  laughed  drunkenly.  The  fever  was  blurring 
his  sight,  dulling  his  brain  and  filling  him  with  an 
irresistible  desire  to  lie  down. 

"Yes,  I  knew  it,"  he  mumbled.  "I  saw  it  in  your 
eye.  You  couldn't  do  it — because  I  didn't  want  you 
to.  I  want  you — I  want  you  to  fix  me  up — hole  in 
the  shoulder — fever — understand?" 

"I  understand  that  when  Duncan  Roy,  my  father's 
brother,  catches  up  with  us  he  will  save  me  the  trou- 
ble by  putting  a  hole  through  your  head." 

"Plenty  of  time  for  that  later  on."  Reivers  fought 
off  the  stupor  and  held  his  senses  clear  for  a  moment. 
"Have  you  got  my  whisky?" 

"And  what  if  I  have?" 

"Answer  me!'  he  said  icily.     "Have  you?" 

"Duncan  Roy  has  whisky,"  she  replied  reluctantly. 
"He  will  be  on  our  trail  now." 

"How  long — how  long  before  he'll  get  here?" 

"Yon  beast — "  she  nodded  her  head  toward  the  still 
figure  in  the  snow — "raided  our  camp,  struck  me  down 
and  stole  me  away  with  my  team  two  hours  before 
sundown,  yestere'en.  Duncan  Roy  was  out  meat- 
hunting,  and  would  be  back  by  dark.  He'll  be  two 
hours  behind  us,  and  his  dogs  travel  even  with  these." 

"Two  hours?  Too  long,"  groaned  Reivers  and 
pitched  headlong  into  the  snow. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 
THE  WOMAN'S  WAY 

"IX  THEN  he  came  to,  it  was  from  the  bite  and  sting 
V  V    of  the  terrible  white  whisky  of  the  North,  be- 
ing poured  down  his  throat  by  a  rude,  generous  hand. 

"Aye;  he's  no'  dead,"  rumbled  a  voice  like  unto  a 
bear's  growl.  "He  lappit  the  liquor  though  his  eye's 
closed.  Hoot,  man !  Ye  take  it  in  like  mother's  milk." 

"Have  done,  Uncle  Duncan,"  warned  another  voice 
— the  bold,  free  voice  of  the  girl,  Reivers  in  his  semi- 
consciousnes  made  out.  "  'Tis  a  sick  man.  Don't 
give  him  the  whole  bottle." 

"Let  be,  let  be,"  grumbled  the  big  voice,  but  never- 
theless Reivers  felt  the  bottle  withdrawn  from  his 
lips.  "  'Tis  no  tender  child  that  a  good  drink  of  liquor 
would  hurt  that  we  have  here.  Do  you  not  note  that 
mouth  and  jaw?  I'm  little  more  pleased  with  the  look 
of  him  than  with  yon  thing  in  the  snow." 
:  'Tis  a  sick,  helpless  being,"  said  the  girl. 

The  big  voice  rumbled  forth  an  oath. 

"And  what  have  we — you  and  I — to  do  with  sick, 
helpless  beings  ?  Are  we  not  on  the  trail  to  find  Shanty 
Moir,  who  is  working  your  father's  mine,  wherever 
it  is,  and  there  take  vengeance  on  said  Shanty  for 
your  father's  murder,  as  well  as  recover  your  own 
property?  Is  this  a  trail  on  which  'tis  fit  and  well 
we  halted  to  nurse  and  care  for  sick,  helpless  be- 
ings ?  Blood  of  the  de'il !  An  unlucky  mess !  What 
business  has  man  to  be  sick  and  ailing  on  the  Winter 

193 


194  The  Snow-Burner 

trail  here  in  the  North?  Tis  the  law  of  Nature  that 
such  die!" 

"And  do  you  think  that  law  will  be  followed  here  ?" 
demanded  the  girl. 

"Were  I  alone,  it  would,"  retorted  the  man.  "Our 
task  is  to  find  the  place  of  Shanty  Moir  and  do  him 
justice." 

"And  the  hospitality  of  the  MacGregors?  Is  it 
like  Duncan  Roy  to  see  beast  or  man  needing  or  want- 
ing help  without  stretching  his  hand  to  help  it?" 

The  man  was  silent. 

"Do  you  think  any  good  could  come  to  you  or  me 
if  we  turned  our  hearts  to  stones  and  let  a  sick  man 
perish  after  he  had  fallen  helpless  on  our  hands?" 

"I  tell  you  what  I  think,  Hattie  MacGregor,"  broke 
out  the  big  voice.  "I  think  there  is  trouble  travelling 
as  trail-fellow  with  this  man.  I  see  trouble  in  the 
cut  of  his  jaw  and  the  lines  of  his  mouth.  There 
is  a  fate  written  there;  he's  a  fated  man  and  no  else, 
and  nothing  would  please  me  better  than  to  have  him 
a  thousand  days  mushing  away  from  me  and  never  to 
see  him  again.  Trouble  and  trouble!  It's  written 
on  him  plain. 

"Who  is  he?  Whence  came  he?  Why  is  he  alone, 
dogless,  foodless,  weaponless,  here  in  these  Dead 
Lands!  'Tis  uncanny.  Blood  o'  the  de'il!  He  might 
be  dropped  down  from  somewhere,  or  more  like  shot 
up  from  somewhere — from  the  black  pit,  for  instance. 
It's  no'  proper  for  mere  human  being  to  be  found  in 
his  condition  out  this  far  on  the  barrens,  with  no  sign 
of  how  he  came  or  why?" 

"Have  no  fear,  Uncle  Duncan,"  laughed  the  girl. 
"He's  only  a  common  man." 

Reivers  opened  his  eyes,  chuckling  feverishly. 

"You'll  pay  for  that  'common,'  you  spitfire,  when 
I've  tamed  you,"  he  mumbled. 


The  Woman's  Way  195 

"Only  a  common  man,  Uncle  Duncan,"  repeated 
the  girl  steadfastly,  "and  I've  a  bone  to  pick  with  him 
when  he's  on  his  feet,  no  longer  helpless  and  pitiable 
as  he  is  now." 

Again  Reivers  laughed  through  the  haze  of  fever. 
He  did  not  have  the  strength  to  hold  his  eyes  open, 
but  his  mind  worked  on. 

"Helpless!  Did  you  notice  the  incident  of  the 
rock  ?"  he  babbled.  "Bare,  primitive,  two-handed  man 
against  a  man  with  a  gun.  Who  won?" 

"Aye,"  said  the  man  seriously,  "we  owe  you  thanks 
for  that.  For  a  helpless  man,  you  deal  stout  knocks." 

"And  speak  big  words,"  snapped  the  girl.  "Now, 
around  with  the  teams,  Uncle  Duncan,  and  back  to 
camp.  There's  been  talk  enough.  We  must  take  him 
in  and  shelter  and  care  for  him,  since  he  has  fallen 
helpless  and  pitiable  on  our  hands.  We  owe  him  no 
thanks.  Can  you  not  lay  his  head  easier — the  boast- 
ing fool!  There;  that's  better.  Now,  all  that  the 
dogs  can  stand,  Uncle,  for  I  misdoubt  we'll  be  hard- 
pressed  to  keep  the  life  in  him  till  we  get  him  back  to 
camp." 

Reivers  heard  and  strove  to  reply.  But  the  paraly- 
sis of  fever  and^weakness  was  upon  him,  and  all  that 
came  from  his  lips  was  an  incoherent  babbling.  In 
the  last  vapoury  stages  of  consciousness  he  realised 
that  he  was  being  placed  more  comfortably  upon  the 
sledge,  that  his  head  was  being  lifted  and  that  blankets 
were  being  strapped  about  him. 

He  felt  the  sledge  being  turned,  heard  the  runners 
grate  on  the  snow ;  then  ensued  an  easy,  sliding  move- 
ment through  space,  as  the  rested  dogs  started  their 
lope  back  through  the  valley.  The  movement  soothed 
him.  It  lulled  him  to  a  sensation  of  safety  and 
comfort. 

The  phantasmagoria  of  fever  pounded  at  his  brain, 


196 


The  Snow-Burner 


his  eyes  and  ears,  but  the  steady,  swishing  rush  of  the 
sleigh  drove  them  away.  He  slept,  and  awoke  when 
a  halt  was  called  and  more  whisky  forced  down  his 
throat.  Then  he  slept  again. 

There  were  several  halts.  Once  he  realised  that 
he  was  being  fed  thin  soup,  made  from  cooked  veni- 
son and  snow-water.  That  was  the  last  impression 
made  on  remaining  consciousness.  After  that  the 
thread  snapped. 

The  sledges  went  on.  They  left  the  valley. 
Through  the  jumbled  ridges  of  the  Dead  Lands  they 
hurried.  They  reached  a  stretch  of  stunted  fir,  and 
still  they  continued  to  go.  At  length  they  pulled 
up  before  a  solid  little  cabin  built  in  a  cleft  of  rocks. 

The  Snow  Burner  was  carried  in  and  put  to  bed. 
After  a  rest  Duncan  Roy  and  the  fresher  of  the  dog- 
teams  took  the  trail  again.  They  came,  back  after 
a  day  and  a  night,  bringing  with  them  a  certain  Pere 
Batiste,  skilled  in  treating  fevers  and  wounds  of  the 
body  as  well  as  of  the  soul.  The  good  cure  gasped  at 
the  torso  which  revealed  itself  to  his  gaze  as  he  stripped 
off  the  clothes  to  work  at  the  wound. 

"If  le  bon  Dieu  made  him  as  well  inside  as  outside, 
this  is  a  very  good  man,"  he  said  simply ;  and  Duncan 
MacGregor  smiled  grimly. 

"God — or  the  de'il — made  him  to  deal  stout  knocks, 
that's  sure,"  he  grunted.  "  'Tis  a  rare  animal  we  have 
stripped  before  us." 

"A  rare  human  being — a  soul,"  reproved  Father 
Batiste.  "And  it  is  le  bon  Dieu  who  makes  us  all." 

"But  the  de'il  gets  hold  of  some  very  young,"  in- 
sisted the  Scotchman. 

Father  Batiste  stayed  in  the  cabin  for  two  days. 

"He  was  not  meant  to  die  this  time,"  he  said  later. 
"It  will  be  long — weeks  perhaps — before  he  will  be 
strong  enough  to  take  the  trail.  He  will  need  care, 


The  Woman's  Way  197 

such  care  as  only  a  woman  can  give  him.  If  he  does 
not  have  this  care  he  will  die.  If  he  does  have  it  he 
will  live.  Adieu,  my  children ;  you  have  a  sacred,  hu- 
man life  in  your  hands." 

And  he  got  the  care  that  only  a  woman  could  give 
him.  For  the  next  two  weeks  Duncan  MacGregor 
watched  his  niece's  devoted  nursing  and  gnawed  his 
red  beard  gloomily. 

"Trouble — trouble — trouble !"  he  muttered  over  and 
over  to  himself.  "It  rides  around  the  man's  head 
like  a  storm-cap.  Hattie  MacGregor,  take  care.  Yon 
man  will  be  a  different  creature  to  handle  when  he 
has  the  strength  back  in  his  body." 

At  the  end  of  a  week  Reivers  awoke  as  a  man  wakes 
after  a  long,  fever-breaking  slumber,  weak  and  wasted, 
yet  with  a  grateful  sense  of  comfort  and  well-being. 
Before  he  opened  his  eyes  he  sensed  by  the  warmth 
and  odours  of  the  air  that  he  was  in  a  small,  tight 
room,  and  in  a  haze  he  fancied  that  he  had  fallen 
in  the  tepee  of  Tillie,  the  squaw.  Then  he  remem- 
bered. He  opened  his  eyes. 

He  was  lying  in  a  bunk,  raised  high  from  the  floor, 
and  above  the  foot  of  the  bed  was  a  small  window, 
shaded  by  a  frilled  white  curtain.  Reivers  lay  long 
and  looked  at  the  curtain  before  his  eyes  moved  to 
further  explore  the  room.  For  once,  long,  long  ago, 
he  had  belonged  in  a  world  where  white  frilled  cur- 
tains and  frills  of  other  kinds  were  not  an  exception. 

In  his  physically  washed-out  condition  his  mem- 
ory reached  back  and  pictured  that  world  with  un- 
canny clearness,  and  he  turned  from  the  curtain  with 
a  frown  of  annoyance  to  look  straight  into  the  eyes 
of  Duncan  Roy,  who  sat  by  the  fireplace  across  the 
room  and  studied  him  from  beneath  shaggy  red 
brows. 

Reivers  looked  the  man  over  idly  at  first,  then  with 


198 


The  Snow-Burner 


a  considerable  interest  and  appreciation.  Sitting 
crouched  over  on  a  low  stone  bench,  with  the  light 
of  the  fire  and  of  the  sun  upon  him,  MacGregor  re- 
sembled nothing  so  much  as  an  old  red-haired  bear. 
He  was  short  of  leg  and  bow-legged,  but  his  torso 
and  head  were  enormous.  His  arms,  folded  across 
the  knees,  were  bear-like  in  length  and  size,  and  his 
hair  and  beard  flamed  golden  red. 

There  was  no  friendliness  in  the  small,  grey  eyes 
which  regarded  Reivers  so  steadily.  Duncan  Mac- 
Gregor was  no  man  to  hide  his  true  feelings.  Reivers 
looked  enquiringly  around. 

"She's  stepped  outside  to  feed  the  dogs,"  said  Mac- 
Gregor, interpreting  the  look.  "You'll  have  to  put  up 
with  my  poor  company  for  the  time  being." 

"I  accept  your  apology,"  said  Reivers  and  turned 
comfortably  toward  the  wall. 

A  deep,  chesty  chuckle  came  from  the  fireside. 

"Man,  whoever  are  you  or  whatever  are  you,  to 
take  it  that  Duncan  MacGregor  feels  any  need  to 
apologise  to  you?" 

The  words  were  further  balm  to  Reivers's  new- 
found feeling  of  comfort  and  content. 

"Say  that  again,  please,"  he  requested  drowsily. 

Laughingly  the  giant  by  the  fire  repeated  his  query. 

"Good !"  murmured  Reivers.  "I  just  wanted  to  be 
sure  that  you  didn't  know  who  I  am — or,  rather,  who 
I  was?" 

"Blood  o'  the  de'il !"  laughed  the  Scotchman.  "So 
it's  that,  is  it?  Tell  me,  how  much  reward  is  there 
offered  for  you,  dead  or  alive?  I'm  a  thrifty  man, 
lad,  and  you  hardly  look  like  a  man  who'd  have  a 
small  price  on  his  head." 

"Wrong,  quite  wrong,  my  suspicious  friend,"  said 
Reivers.  "I  see  you've  the  simple  mind  of  the  man 
who's  spent  much  time  in  lone  places.  You  jump  at 


The  Woman's  Way  199 

the  natural  conclusion.  When  you  know  me  better 
you'll  know  that  that  won't  apply  to  me." 

"Well,"  drawled  the  Scotchman  good-naturedly, 
"I  do  not  say  that  it  looks  suspicious  to  be  found 
a  two-days'  march  out  in  the  Dead  Lands,  without 
food,  dog,  or  weapons,  with  an  empty  belly  and  a 
hole  through  the  shoulder,  but  there  are  people  who 
might  draw  the  conclusion  that  a  man  so  fixed  was 
travelling  because  some  place  behind  him  was  mighty 
bad  for  his  health.  But  I  have  no  doubt  you  have  an 
explanation?  No  doubt  'tis  quite  the  way  you  prefer 
to  travel?" 

"Under  certain  circumstances,  it  is,"  said  Reivers. 

"Aye;  under  certain  circumstances.  Such  as  an 
affair  with  a  'Redcoat/  for  instance." 

"Wrong  again,  my  simple-minded  friend.  You're 
quite  welcome  to  bring  the  whole  Mounted  Police  here 
to  look  me  over.  I'm  not  on  their  lists,  or  the  lists 
of  any  authority  in  the  world,  as  'wanted.' ' 

"For  that  insult — that  I'm  of  the  kind  that  bears 
tales  to  the  police — I'll  have  an  accounting  with  you 
later  on,"  said  MacGregor  sharply.  "For  the  rest — • 
you'll  admit  that  you're  under  some  small  obliga- 
tion to  us — will  you  be  kind  enough  to  explain  what 
lay  behind  you  that  you  should  be  out  on  the  barrens 
in  your  condition?  I'll  have  you  know  that  I  am  no 
man  to  ask  pay  for  succouring  the  sick  or  wounded. 
Neither  am  I  the  man  to  let  any  well  man  be  near- 
speaking  with  my  ward  and  niece,  Hattie  MacGregor, 
without  I  know  what's  the  straight  of  him." 

Reivers  turned  luxuriously  in  his  bunk  and  re- 
garded his  inquisitor  with  a  smile. 

"Poor,  dainty,  helpless,  little  lady!"  he  mocked. 
"So  weak  and  frail  that  she  needs  a  protector.  Never 
carries  anything  more  than  an  eight-inch  knife  up 
her  sleeve.  You  do  right,  MacGregor;  your  niece 


2OO  The  Snow-Burner 

certainly  needs  looking  after.  She  certainly  doesn't 
know  how  to  take  care  of  herself. 

"But  about  obligations,  I  don't  quite  agree  with 
you.  Didn't  you  owe  me  a  little  something  for  that 
turn  with  the  bearded  fellow?  Not  that  I  did  it 
to  save  the  girl,"  he  continued  loudly,  as  he  heard 
the  door  open  behind  him  and  knew  that  Hattie  Mac- 
Gregor  had  entered.  "What  was  she  to  me?  Noth- 
ing! But  I  was  hungry.  I  needed  food.  But  for 
that  our  black-bearded  friend  might  now  have  been 
wandering  care-free  over  the  snows,  a  red-haired 
woman  still  strapped  to  his  sledge,  his  taste  seeming 
to  run  to  that  colour,  which  mine  does  not." 

Hattie  MacGregor  stilled  her  uncle's  retort  with  a 
shake  of  her  golden-red  head,  crossed  to  the  fireplace 
and  took  up  a  bowl  that  was  simmering  there,  and 
approached  the  bed.  Reivers  looked  at  her  closely, 
striving  to  catch  her  eye,  but  she  seated  herself  beside 
him  without  apparently  paying  the  slightest  attention. 
She  spoke  no  word,  made  no  sign  to  welcome  him 
back  from  his  unconsciousness,  but  merely  held  a 
spoonful  of  the  steaming  broth  up  to  his  lips. 

There  was  a  certain  dexterity  in  her  movements 
which  told  that  she  had  performed  this  action  many, 
many  times  before,  and  there  was  nothing  in  her  man- 
ner to  indicate  her  sensibility  of  the  change  in  his 
condition.  Reivers  opened  his  mouth  to  laugh,  and 
the  girl  dexterously  tilted  the  contents  of  the  spoon 
down  his  throat. 

"You  fool!"  he  sputtered,  half  strangling. 

He  strove  to  rise,  but  her  round,  warm  arm  held 
him  down.  Over  by  the  fireplace  Duncan  MacGregor 
slapped  his  thigh  and  chuckled  deep  down  in  his  hairy 
throat,  but  on  the  face  of  his  niece  there  was  only 
the  determined  patience  of  the  nurse  dealing  with  a 
patient  not  yet  entirely  responsible  for  his  behaviour. 


2OI 

She  was  not  surprised  at  his  outbreak,  Reivers  saw. 
Apparently  she  had  fed  him  many  times  just  so — 
he  utterly  helpless  and  childish,  she  capable  and  calm. 
Apparently  she  was  determined  to  sit  there,  firm  and 
patient,  until  he  was  ready  to  take  his  broth  quietly 
and  without  fuss. 

Indignantly  he  raised  his  hands  to  take  the  bowl 
from  her;  then  he  opened  his  eyes  wide  in  surprise. 
He  was  so  weak  that  he  could  barely  lift  his  arms, 
and  when  she  offered  him  a  second  spoonful  he  swal- 
lowed it  without  further  demur. 

"Ah,  well,  we'll  soon  be  able  to  take  the  trail  again," 
drawled  MacGregor  mockingly.  "We're  getting 
strong  now;  soon  we'll  be  able  to  eat  with  our  own 
hands." 

"Hold  tongue,  Uncle,"  snapped  the  girl,  and  con- 
tinued to  feed  her  patient. 

"I  suppose  I  must  thank  you?"  taunted  Reivers, 
when  the  bowl  was  empty. 

Hattie  MacGregor  made  no  sign  to  indicate  that 
she  had  heard.  She  put  the  bowl  away,  felt  Reivers' 
pulse,  laid  her  hand  upon  his  forehead — never  look- 
ing at  him  the  while — arranged  the  pillows  under 
his  head,  tucked  him  in  and  without  speaking  went 
out.  Reivers'  eyes  followed  her  till  the  door  closed 
behind  her. 

"The  little  spitfire!"  he  growled  in  grudging  admi- 
ration; and  Duncan  MacGregor,  by  the  fire,  laughed 
till  the  room  echoed. 


CHAPTER  XXV 
GOLD! 

NEXT  morning  when  she  came  to  feed  him 
Reivers  angrily  reached  for  the  bowl.  He  was 
stronger  than  the  day  before,  and  he  held  his  hands 
forth  without  trembling. 

"There's  no  need  of  your  feeding  me  by  hand  any 
longer,"  said  he.  "I  assure  you  I'll  enjoy  my  food 
much  better  alone  than  I  do  with  you  feeding  me." 

The  girl  seated  herself  at  the  bunk-side,  holding 
the  bowl  out  of  his  reach,  and  looked  him  quietly 
in  the  eyes.  It  was  the  first  time  she  had  appeared 
to  notice  his  return  to  consciousness,  and  Reivers 
smiled  quizzically  at  her  scrutiny.  She  did  not  smile 
in  return,  merely  studied  him  as  if  he  were  an  in,- 
teresting  subject. 

In  the  grey  light  of  morning  Reivers  for  the  first 
time  saw  her  with  eyes  cleared  of  the  fever  blur. 
His  smile  vanished,  for  he  saw  that  this  woman,  to 
him,  was  different  from  any  woman  he  ever  had 
known  before.  And  he  had  known  many. 

In  her  wide  grey  eyes  there  rode  a  sorrow  that 
reached  out  and  held  the  observer,  despite  her  evident 
efforts  to  keep  it  hidden.  But  the  mouth  belied  the 
eyes.  It  was  set  with  an  expression  of  determination, 
almost  superhuman,  almost  savage.  It  was  as  if  this 
girl,  just  rounding  her  twenties,  had  turned  herself 
into  a  force  for  the  accomplishment  of  an  object.  The 

202 


Gold!  203 

mouth  was  harsh,  almost  lipless,  in  its  set.  Yet,  be- 
neath all  this,  the  woman  in  Hattie  MacGregor  was 
obvious,  soft,  yearning. 

Many  women  had  had  a  part  in  Reivers'  life — far 
too  many.  None  of  them  had  held  his  interests  longer 
than  for  a  few  months;  none  of  them  had  he  failed 
to  tame  and  break.  And  none  of  them  had  reached 
below  the  hard  husk  of  him  and  touched  the  better 
man  as  Hattie  MacGregor  did  at  this  moment.  His 
past  experiences,  his  past  attitute  toward  women,  his 
past  manner  of  life,  flashed  through  his  mind,  each 
picture  bringing  with  It  a  stab  of  remorse. 

Remorse!  The  Snow  Burner  remorseful!  He 
laughed  his  old  laugh  of  contempt  and  defiance  of 
all  the  world,  but,  though  he  refused  to  acknowledge 
it  to  himself,  the  old,  invincible,  self-assured  ring  was 
not  in  it.  This  girl  was  not  to  him  what  other  women 
had  been,  and  he  saw  that  he  could  not  tame  her  as 
he  had  tamed  them. 

Strange  thoughts  rose  in  his  mind.  He  wished  that 
the  past  had  been  different.  He  actually  felt  un- 
worthy. Well,  the  past  was  past.  It  had  died  with 
him  in  the  river.  He  was  beginning  a  new  life,  a 
new  name,  a  new  man.  Why  couldn't  he?  He  drove 
the  weak  thoughts  away.  What  nonsense!  He — 
Hell-Camp  Reivers — getting  soft  over  a  woman? 
Pooh! 

"I  said  I  could  feed  myself,"  he  snarled.  "Give 
me  that  bowl.  I  don't  want  you  around." 

For  reply  she  dipped  the  spoon  into  the  food  and 
held  it  ready. 

"Lie  down  quietly,  please,"  she  said  coldly.  "This 
is  no  time  for  keeping  up  your  play  of  being  a  big 
man." 

"Give  me  that  bowl,"  he  commanded. 

"Uncle,"  she  called  quietly. 


2O4  The  Snow-Burner 

Her  big  kinsman  came  lurching  in  from  the  other 
room  of  the  cabin. 

"Aye,  lass  ?"  said  he. 

"It  looks  as  if  we  would  have  to  obey  Father 
Batiste's  directions  and  feed  him  by  force,"  said  the 
girl  quietly.  "He  has  come  out  of  the  fever,  but  he 
hasn't  got  his  senses  back.  He  thinks  of  feeding 
himself.  Do  you  get  the  straps,  Uncle.  You  recol- 
lect Father  Batiste's  orders." 

Duncan  MacGregor  scratched  his  hairy  head  in 
puzzled  fashion. 

"How  now,  stranger?"  he  growled.  "Can  you  no 
take  your  food  in  peace?" 

"I  can  take  it  without  anybody's  help,"  insisted 
Reivers.  He  knew  that  the  situation  was  ridiculous, 
but  he  saw  no  way  of  getting  the  whip-hand. 

"It  was  the  word  of  the  good  Father,  without 
whom  you  would  now  be  resting  out  in  the  snow  with 
a  cairn  of  rock  over  you,  that  you  should  be  fed  so 
much  and  so  little  for  some  days  after  your  senses 
come  back,"  said  MacGregor  slowly.  "I  do  not  ken 
the  right  of  it  quite,  but  the  lass  does.  The  lass — 
she'll  have  her  way,  I  suspect.  I  can  do  naught  but 
obey  her  orders." 

"Get  the  straps,"  commanded  the  girl  curtly. 

Reivers  glared  at  her,  but  she  looked  back  without 
the  least  losing  her  self-possession  or  determination. 

"You'll  pay  for  this !"  he  snorted. 

"Will  you  take  your  food  without  the  straps  ?"  said 
she. 

For  a  minute  their  eyes  met  in  conflict. 

"Oh,  don't  be  ridiculous,"  snapped  Reivers.  "Have 
your  silly  way." 

"Good.  That's  a  good  boy,"  she  said  softly;  and 
Duncan  Roy  ran  from  the  room  choking. 

"You  see,"  she  continued,  as  he  swallowed  the  first 


Gold!  205 

spoonful,  "it  isn't  always  possible  to  have  your  own 
way,  is  it  ?    I  am  cfoing  tHis  only  for  your  own  good." 

"Hold  your  tongue,"  he  growled.  "I've  got  to  eat 
this  food,  but  I  don't  have  to  listen  to  your  talk." 

"Quite  right,"  she  agreed,  and  the  meal  was  fin- 
ished in  silence. 

At  noon  she  fed  him  again,  without  speaking  a 
word.  Apparently  she  had  given  her  uncle  orders 
likewise  to  refrain  from  talking  to  Reivers,  for  not 
a  word  did  he  speak  during  the  day. 

In  the  evening  the  same  silent  feeding  took  place. 
After  she  and  her  uncle  had  supped,  they  drew  up  to 
the  fireplace,  where,  in  silence,  Duncan  repaired  a  dog- 
harness  while  the  girl  sewed  busily  at  a  fur  coat.  At 
short  intervals  the  uncle  cast  a  look  toward  Reivers' 
bunk,  then  choked  a  chuckle  in  his  beard,  each  chuckle 
bringing  a  glance  of  reproof  from  his  niece. 

"No,  Hattie,"  MacGregor  broke  out  finally,  "I  can- 
not hold  tongue  any  longer.  Company  is  no'  so  plen- 
tiful in  the  North  that  we  can  sit  by  and  have  no 
speech.  Do  you  keep  still  if  you  wish — I  must  talk. 
Stranger,  are  you  going  to  tell  me  about  yoursel',  as 
I  asked  you  yestereve?" 

"Does  her  Royal  Highness,  the  Red-Headed  Chief- 
tainess,  permit  me  to  speak?"  queried  Reivers  sarcas- 
tically. 

'Twas  your  own  sel'  told  me  to  hold  tongue,"  said 
the  girl  evenly,  without  looking  up.  "I  am  glad  to 
see  you  are  reasonable  enough  to  give  in." 

"Let  be,  Hattie,"  grumbled  the  old  man.  "He's  our 
guest,  and  we  in  his  debt.  Stranger,  who  are  you  ?" 

"Nobody,"  said  Reivers. 

"Ah !"  cried  the  girl.  "Now  he's  come  to  his  senses, 
sure  enough." 

"Hattie !"  said  the  old  man  ominously.  "I  beg  par- 
don for  her  uncivility,  stranger." 


206  The  Snow-Burner 

"Never  mind,"  said  Reivers  lightly.  "Apparently 
she  doesn't  know  any  better.  Speaking  to  you,  sir, 
I  am  nobody.  I'm  as  much  nobody  as  a  child  born 
yesterday.  My  life — as  far  as  you're  concerned— 
began  up  there  on  the  rocks  in  the  Dead  Lands. 

"I  died  just  a  few  days  before  that — died  as  ef- 
fectively as  if  a  dozen  preachers  had  read  the  service 
over  me.  You  don't  understand  that.  You've  got  a 
simple  mind.  But  I  tell  you  I'm  beginning  a  new 
life  as  completely  as  if  there  was  no  life  behind  me, 
and  as  you  know  all  that's  happened  in  this  new  life, 
you  see  there's  nothing  for  me  to  tell  you  about  my- 
self." 

"You  died,"  repeated  the  old  man  slowly.  "I'll  war- 
rant you  had  a  good  reason." 

"A  fair  one.  I  wanted  to  live.  I  died  to  save  my 
life." 

"Speak  plain!"  growled  MacGregor.  "You  were 
not  fleeing  from  the  law?" 

"No — as  I  told  you  yesterday.  The  only  law  I  was 
fleeing  from  was  the  good  old  one  that  cheap  men 
make  when  they  become  a  mob." 

"I  tak'  it  they  had  a  fair  reason  for  becoming  a 
mob?" 

"The  best  in  the  world,"  agreed  Reivers.  "They 
wanted  to  kill  me.  Now,  why  they  wanted  to  do  that 
is  something  that  belongs  to  my  other  life — with  the 
other  man — has  nothing  at  all  to  do  with  this  man — 
with  me — and  therefore  I  am  not  going  to  tell  you 
anything  about  it,  except  this:  I  didn't  come  away 
with  anything  that  belonged  to  them,  except  possibly 
my  life." 

MacGregor  nodded  sagely  as  Reivers  ended. 

"And  his  own  bare  life  a  man  has  a  right  to  get 
away  with  if  he  can,  even  though  it's  property  for- 


Gold !  207 

feited  to  others,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  you  have,  or 
had,  a  name?" 

"I  did.  I  haven't  now;  I  haven't  thought  of  one 
that  would  please  me." 

"How  would  the  'Woman  Tamer'  suit  you?"  asked 
the  girl,  without  pausing  in  her  sewing.  "You  re- 
member you  told  me  one  of  your  specialties  was 
taming  spitfires  like  me?" 

Reivers  smiled. 

"I  am  glad  to  see  that  you've  become  sufficiently  in- 
terested in  me,  Miss  MacGregor,  to  select  me  a  name." 

"Interested!"  she  flared;  then  subsided  and  bent 
over  her  sewing.  "I  will  speak  no  more,  Uncle,"  she 
said  meekly. 

"Good!"  sneered  Reivers.  "Your  manners  are  im- 
proving. And  now,  Mr.  MacGregor,  what  about  your- 
selves, and  your  brother,  and  a  mine,  and  a  man 
named  Moir  that  I've  heard  you  speak  of?" 

Duncan  MacGregor  tossed  a  fresh  birch  chunk  into 
the  fire  and  carefully  poked  the  coals  around  it.  Out- 
side, the  dogs,  burrowing  in  the  snow,  sent  up  to 
the  sky  their  weird  night-cry,  a  cry  of  prayer  and 
protest,  protest  against  the  darkness  and  mystery 
of  night,  prayer  for  the  return  of  the  light  of  day. 
A  wind  sprang  up  and  whipped  dry  snow  against  the 
cabin  window,  and  to  the  sound  of  its  swishing  wail 
Duncan  MacGregor  began  to  speak. 

"Little  as  you've  seen  fit  to  tell  about  yourself, 
stranger,"  he  said,  "  'tis  plain  from  your  behaviour 
out  on  the  rocks  that  you're  no  man  of  that  foul  Welsh 
cutthroat  and  thief,  Shanty  Moir.  For  the  manner 
in  which  you  dealt  with  yon  man,  we  owe  you  a 
debt." 

"We  owe  him  nothing,"  interrupted  the  niece. 
"Had  he  not  interfered,  I  would  have  found  the  way 
to  Shanty  Moir." 


208  The  Snow-Burner 

"But  as  how?" 

"What  matter  as  how?  What  matter  what  hap- 
pens to  me  if  I  could  find  what  has  become  of  my 
father  and  bring  justice  to  the  head  of  Shanty  Moir?" 

MacGregor  shook  his  head. 

"We  owe  you  a  debt,"  he  continued,  speaking  to 
Reivers,  "and  can  not  refuse  to  tell  you  how  it  is 
with  us.  It  is  no  pleasant  situation  we  are  in,  as 
you  may  have  judged.  My  brother,  father  of  Hattie, 
is — or  was,  we  do  not  know  which — James  Mac- 
Gregor, 'Red'  MacGregor  so-called  in  this  land,  there- 
fore MacGregor  Roy,  as  is  all  our  breed.  You  would 
have  heard  of  him  did  you  belong  in  this  country. 

"Ten  year  ago  we  built  this  cabin,  he  and  I,  and 
settled  down  to  trap  the  country,  for  the  fur  here 
is  good.  Five  year  ago  a  Cree  half-breed  gave  James 
a  sliver  of  rock  to  weight  a  net  with,  and  the  rock, 
curse  it  forever,  was  over  half  gold.  The  breed 
could  not  recall  where  the  rock  had  come  from,  save 
that  he  had  chucked  it  into  his  canoe  some  place  up 
north. 

"James  MacGregor  stopped  trapping  then.  He  be- 
gan to  look  for  the  spot  where  the  gilty  rock  came 
from.  Three  years  he  looked  and  did  not  find  it. 
Two  years  ago  Shanty  Moir  came  down  the  river  and 
bided  here,  and  Moir  was  a  prospector  among  other 
things.  Together  they  found  it,  after  nearly  two 
years  looking  together ;  for  James  took  this  Moir  into 
partnership,  and  that  was  the  unlucky  day  of  his 
life." 

MacGregor  kicked  savagely  at  the  fire  and  sat  silent 
for  several  minutes. 

"Six  months  gone  they  found  it,"  he  continued 
dully,  "in  the  Summer  time.  They  came  in  for  pro- 
visions— for  provisions  for  all  Winter.  A  deposit 


Gold!  209 

for  two  men  to  work,  they  said.  My  brother  would 
not  even  tell  me  where  they  found  it.  The  gold  had 
got  into  his  brain.  It  was  his  life's  blood  to'  him. 
We  only  knew  that  it  was  somewhere  up  yonder." 

He  embraced  the  whole  North  with  a  despairing 
sweep  of  his  long  arms  and  continued : 

"Then  they  went  back,  five  months,  two  weeks  gone, 
to  dig  out  the  gold,  the  two  of  them,  my  brother,  James, 
and  the  foul  Welsh  thief,  Shanty  Moir.  For  foul  he 
has  proven.  In  three  months  my  brother  had  prom- 
ised he  would  be  back  to  say  all  was  well  with  him. 
We  have  had  no  word,  no  word  in  these  many  months. 

"But  Shanty  Moir  we  have  heard  of.  Aye,  we  have 
heard  of  him.  At  Fifty  Mile,  and  at  Dumont's  Camp 
he  had  been,  throwing  dust  and  nuggets  across  the 
bars  and  to  the  painted  women,  boasting  he  is  king 
of  the  richest  deposit  in  the  North,  and  offering  to 
kill  any  man  wrho  offers  to  follow  his  trail  to  his 
holdings.  Aye,  that  we  have  heard.  And  that  must 
mean  only  one  thing — the  cut-throat  Moir  has  done 
my  brother  to  death  and  is  flourishing  on  the  gold 
that  drew  James  MacGregor  to  his  doom. 

"Well,"  he  went  on  harshly,  "what  men  have  found 
others  can  find.  We  have  sent  word  broadcast  that 
we  will  find  Shanty  Moir  and  his  holdings,  and  that 
I  will  have  an  accounting  with  him,  aye,  an  accounting 
that  will  leave  but  one  of  us  above  ground,  if  it  takes 
me  the  rest  of  my  life." 

"And  mine,"  interjected  the  girl  hotly.  "Shanty 
Moir  is  mine,  and  I  take  toll  for  my  father's  life. 
It's  no  matter  what  comes  to  me,  if  I  can  bring  jus- 
tice to  Shanty  Moir  for  what  he  has  done  to  my 
father.  My  hand — my  own  hand  will  take  toll  when 
we  run  the  dog  to  earth." 

In  his  bunk  Reivers  laughed  scornfully. 


210  The  Snow-Burner 

"I've  a  good  notion  to  go  hunting  this  Moir  and 
bring  him  to  you  just  to  see  if  you  could  make  those 
words  good,"  said  he.  "With  your  own  hand,  eh? 
You'd  fail,  of  course,  at  the  last  moment,  being  a 
woman,  but  it  would  almost  be  worth  while  getting 
this  Moir  for  you  to  see  what  you'd  do.  Yes,  it  would 
be  an  interesting  experiment." 

It  was  the  girl's  turn  to  laugh  now,  her  laughter 
mocking  his. 

"  'Twould  be  interesting  to  see  what  you  would  do 
did  you  stand  face  to  face  with  Shanty  Moir,"  she 
sneered.  "Yes,  'twould  be  an  interesting  experiment 
- — to  see  how  you'd  crawl.  For  this  can  be  said  of  the 
villain,  Shanty  Moir,  that  he  does  not  run  from  men 
to  get  help  from  women.  You  bring  Shanty  Moir  in ! 
How  would  you  do  it — with  your  mouth?" 

"On  second  thought  it  would  be  cruel  and  unusual 
punishment  to  make  any  man  listen  to  your  tongue," 
concluded  Reivers  solemnly. 

MacGregor  growled  and  shook  his  head. 

"There's  no  doubt  that  Shanty  Moir  of  the  black 
heart  is  a  hard-grown,  experienced  man,"  said  he. 
"Henchmen  of  his — three  of  them,  Welshmen  all — 
came  through  here  while  James  and  he  were  hunt- 
ing the  mine,  and  he  treated  tfiem  like  dogs  and  they 
him  like  a  chieftain.  'Twas  one  of  them  you  slew 
with  the  rock  out  yon,  and  the  matter  is  very  plain: 
Shanty  Moir  has  got  word  to  them  and  they  have 
come  to  the  mine  and  overpowered  my  brother  James. 
You  may  judge  of  the  strong  hand  he  holds  over 
his  men  when  a  single  one  of  them  dares  to  raid  my 
camp  in  my  absence  and  steal  the  daughter  of  James 
MacGregor  for  his  chieftain — a  strong,  big  man. 
'Twill  make  it  all  the  sweeter  when  we  get  him.  He 
will  die  hard." 


Gold!  211 

"Also — being  of  a  thrifty  breed — you  won't  feel 
sorry  at  getting  hold  of  whatever  gold  he's  taken  out," 
suggested  Reivers. 

"That's  understood,"  said  MacGregor,  and  put  a 
fresh  chunk  on  the  fire  for  the  night. 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

THE   LOOK   IN   A   WOMAN'S   EYES 

NEXT  morning  Hattie  MacGregor,  after  she  had 
fed  him  his  morning's  meal,  said  casually 
to  Reivers: 

"You  have  about  six  days  more  to  pump  my  uncle 
and  get  all  he  knows  about  my  father's  mine.  In 
six  days  you  should  be  strong  enough  to  travel,  and 
so  long  and  no  longer  do  I  keep  you." 

"Six  days?"  repeated  Reivers.  "I  may  take  it  into 
my  head  to  start  before." 

"And  that's  all  the  good  that  would  do  you,"  she 
replied  promptly.  "You  don't  go  from  here  until 
you  are  firm  on  your  feet,  and  that  will  be  six  days, 
about." 

"Your  interest  flatters  me,"  he  mocked. 

"Interest!"  Her  laugh  was  bitter.  "No  stray, 
wounded  cur  even  goes  from  this  camp  till  he's  fit 
to  rustle  a  living  on  the  trail.  I  could  do  no  less  even 
for  you." 

"And  if  I  should  make  up  my  mind  and  go?" 

"I  would  shoot  you  if  necessary  to  keep  you  here 
till  my  duty  by  you  is  done!" 

"You  spitfire!"  laughed  Reivers,  hiding  the  admi- 
ration that  leaped  into  his  eyes.  "And  what  makes 
you  think  I'm  going  hunting  for  this  alleged  mine 
when  I  depart  from  your  too  warm  hospitality?" 

"Pooh!  'Tis  easy  enough  to  see  that  you're  that 
kind — you  with  your  long,  hungry  nose !  I  was  watch- 

212 


The  Look  In  a  Woman's  Eyes    213 

ing  you  when  my  uncle  babbled  away  last  night. 
You've  naught  a  thing  in  the  world  but  the  clothes 
you  stand  in.  What  would  you  do  but  go  snooping 
around  when  you  hear  of  gold?  I  see  it  in  your 
mean  eyes.  Well,  seek  all  you  please.  You're  wel- 
come. You'll  not  interfere  with  our  quest.  In  the 
first  place,  you  have  not  the  heart  to  stay  on  the 
trail  long  enough  to  succeed ;  in  the  second,  you'd  back- 
track quick  enough  did  you  once  come  face  to  face 
with  Shanty  Moir." 

"And  you — I  suppose  this  bad  man,  Shanty  Moir, 
will  quail  when  he  sees  your  red  hair?  Or  perhaps 
you  expect  to  charm  him  as  you  charmed  the  gentle- 
man who  had  you  tied  on  the  sledge?" 

"I  do  not  know  that,"  she  said  without  irritation. 
"But  I  do  know  that  my  uncle  and  I  will  run  Shanty 
Moir  to  earth,  and  that  he  will  pay  in  full  for  the 
wrong  he  has  done." 

"You  silly,  childish  fool !"  he  broke  out.  "Haven't 
you  brains  enough  to  realise  what  an  impossible  wild- 
goose  chase  you're  on  ?  Since  it  took  your  father  five 
years  to  find  the  mine,  you  ought  to  realise  that  it's 
pretty  hard  to  locate.  Since  he  didn't  find  it  until 
this  Moir,  a  prospector,  came  to  help  him,  you  ought 
to  understand  that  it  takes  a  miner  to  find  it. 

"You're  no  miner.  Your  uncle  is  no  miner.  You've 
neither  of  you  had  the  slightest  experience  in  this 
sort  of  thing.  You  wouldn't  know  the  signs  if  you 
saw  them.  You'll  go  wandering  aimlessly  around, 
maybe  walking  over  Shanty  Moir's  head;  because, 
since  nobody  has  stumbled  across  his  camp,  it  must  be 
so  well  hidden  that  it  can't  be  seen  unless  you  know 
right  where  to  look.  Find  it!  You're  a  couple  of 
children!" 

"Mayhap.  But  we  are  not  so  aimless  as  you  may 
think.  We  go  to  Fifty  Mile  and  to  Dumont's  Camp 


214  The  Snow-Burner 

and  stay.  Sooner  or  later  Shanty  Moir  will  come 
there,  to  throw  my  father's  gold  over  the  bars  and 
to  worse.  It  may  be  a  month,  a  year — it  doesn't  make 
any  difference.  But  I  suppose  a  great  man  like  you 
has  a  quicker  and  surer  way  of  doing  it?" 

"I  have,"  said  Reivers. 

"No  doubt.  I  could  see  your  eyes  grow  greedy 
when  you  heard  my  uncle  tell  of  gold." 

"Oh,  no;  not  especially,"  taunted  Reivers.  "The 
gold  is  an  incident.  Shanty  Moir  is  what  interests 
me.  He  seems  to  be  a  gentleman  of  parts.  I'm 
going  to  get  him.  I'm  going  to  bring  you  face  to 
face  with  him.  I  want  to  see  if  you  could  make 
good  the  strong  talk  you've  been  dealing  out  as  to 
what  you  would  do.  You  interest  me  that  way,  Miss 
MacGregor,  and  that  way  only.  It  will  be  an  in- 
teresting experiment  to  get  you  Shanty  Moir." 

"Thank  Heaven!"  she  said  grimly.  "We'll  soon 
be  rid  of  you  and  your  big  talk.  Then  I  can  forget 
that  any  man  gave  me  the  name  you  gave  me  and 
lived  to  brag  about  it  afterward." 

He  laughed,  as  one  laughs  at  a  petulant  child. 

"You  will  never  forget  me,"  he  said.  "You  know 
that  you  will  not  forget  me,  if  you  live  a  thousand 
years." 

"I  have  forgotten  better  men  than  you,"  she  said 
and  went  out,  slamming  the  door. 

That  evening  Reivers  sat  up  by  the  fire  and  further 
plied  old  MacGregor  with  questions  concerning  the 
mine. 

"You  say  that  your  brother  claimed  the  mine  lay  to 
the  north,"  he  said.  "I  suppose  you  have  searched 
the  north  first  of  all?" 

"For  a  month  I  have  done  nothing  else,"  was  the 
reply.  "I  have  not  gone  far  enough  north.  My 
brother  James  said  it  lay  north  from  here ;  and  'twas 


The  Look  In  a  Woman's  Eyes    215 

north  he  and  Shanty  Moir  went  when  they  started  on 
their  last  trip  together,  from  which  my  brother  did 
not  return  or  send  word." 

"Dumont's  Camp  and  Fifty  Mile,  where  Moir's 
been  on  sprees,  lay  to  the  west." 

"Northwest,  aye.  Four  days'  hard  mushing  to  Fifty 
Mile.  Dumont's  hell-hole's  a  day  beyond." 

"And  you  think  the  mine  lies  to  the  north  of  that?" 

"Aye.  More  like  in  a  direct  line  north  of  here, 
for  'twas  so  they  went  when  they  left  here." 

Reivers  hid  the  smile  of  triumph  that  struggled 
on  his  lips.  The  Dead  Lands  were  strange  country 
to  him,  but  in  the  land  north  of  Fifty  Mile  he  was  at 
home.  In  his  wanderings  he  had  spent  months  in 
that  country  in  company  with  many  other  deluded 
men  who  thought  to  dig  gold  out  of  the  bare,  frozen 
tundra.  He  had  found  no  gold  there,  and  neither 
had  any  one  else.  There  was  no  gold  up  there,  could 
be  none  there,  and,  what  was  more  important  to  him 
just  now,  there  was  no  rock  formation,  nothing  but 
muskeg  and  tundra.  The  mine  could  not  be  up  north. 

It  must,  however,  be  within  easy  mushing  distance 
of  Fifty  Mile  and  Dumont's  Camp,  say  two  or  three 
days,  else  Shanty  Moir  would  not  have  hied  himself 
to  these  settlements  when  the  need  for  riot  and  wassail 
overcame  him. 

"You  know  the  ground  between  here  and  Fifty 
Mile,  I  suppose?"  he  said  suddenly. 

'Tis  my  trapping-ground,"  replied  MacGregor. 

So  the  mine  couldn't  be  east  of  the  settlements.  It 
was  to  the  west  or  the  south. 

"Your  brother  was  particularly  careful  to  keep  the 
location  of  his  find  secret  even  from  you?" 

"Aye,"  said  MacGregor  sorrowfully.  "It  had  gone 
to  his  head,  he  had  searched  so  long,  and  the  find 
was  so  big.  He  took  no  chances  that  I  might  know 


216  The  Snow-Burner 

it,  or  his  daughter  Hattie;  only  the  thief,  Shanty 
Moir." 

And  he  said  that  the  mine  lay  to  the  north.  That 
might  mean  that  it  lay  to  the  south — west  or  south 
of  the  settlements,  there  his  search  would  lie.  It  was 
new  country  to  him,  and,  as  MacGregor  well  knew 
before  he  gave  him  his  confidence,  a  man  not  know- 
ing the  land  might  wander  aimlessly  for  years  with- 
out covering  those  vast,  broken  reaches.  But  Mac- 
Gregor did  not  know  of  the  Chippewa  squaw,  Tillie, 
and  her  people. 

"And  now  I  suppose  you  will  be  able  to  find  it 
soon,"  snapped  Hattie  MacGregor,  "now  that  you 
have  pumped  my  uncle  dry?" 

"I  will,"  said  Reivers.  "I'll  be  there  waiting  for 
you  when  you  come  along."  And  Duncan  MacGregor 
chuckled  deeply. 

For  the  remainder  of  his  stay  at  the  cabin,  Reivers 
maintained  a  sullen  silence  toward  the  girl.  Had  she 
been  different,  had  she  affected  him  differently,  he 
would  have  cursed  her  for  daring  to  disturb  him  even 
to  this  slight  extent.  But  he  knew  that  if  she  had 
been  different  she  would  not  have  disturbed  him  at 
all.  Well,  he  would  soon  be  away,  and  then  he 
would  forget  her. 

He  had  an  object  again.  His  nature  was  such 
that  he  craved  power  and  dominance  over  men,  as  an- 
other man  craves  food.  He  would  not  live  at  all 
unless  he  had  power.  He  had  used  this  power  too 
ruthlessly  at  Cameron-Dam  Camp,  and  it  had  been 
wrested  from  him.  For  the  time  being  he  was  down 
among  the  herd.  But  not  for  long. 

Shanty  Moir  had  a  mine  some  place  south  or  west 
of  the  settlements,  and  the  mine  yielded  gold  nuggets 
and  gold  dust  for  Shanty  Moir  to  fling  across  the 
bars.  Gold  spells  power.  Given  gold,  Reivers  would 


The  Look  In  a  Woman's  Eyes    217 

have  back  his  old-time  power  over  men,  aye,  and 
over  women.  Not  merely  a  power  up  there  in  the 
frozen  North,  but  in  the  world  to  which  he  had  long 
ago  belonged :  the  world  of  men  in  dress  clothes,  of 
lights  and  soft  rugs,  or  women,  soft-speaking  women, 
shimmery  gowns  and  white  shoulders,  their  eyes  and 
apparel  a  constant  invitation  to  the  great  adventure  of 
love. 

After  all,  that  was  the  world  that  he  belonged  in. 
And  gold  would  give  him  power  there,  and  in  that 
whirl  he  would  forget  this  red-haired,  semi-savage  who 
looked  him  in  the  eye  as  no  other  woman  ever  had 
dared.  His  fists  clenched  as  his  thoughts  lighted  up 
the  future.  The  Snow-Burner  had  died,  but  he  would 
live  again,  and  he  would  forget,  absolutely  and  com- 
pletely, Hattie  MacGregor. 

On  the  morning  of  the  sixth  day  Duncan  MacGregor 
gravely  placed  before  him  outside  the  cabin  door  a 
pair  of  light  snowshoes  and  a  grub-bag  filled  with  food 
for  four  days.  Reivers  strapped  on  the  snowshoes 
and  ran  his  arms  through  the  bagstraps  without  a 
word. 

"Stranger,"  said  MacGregor,  holding  out  his  hand, 
"I  did  not  like  you  when  first  I  saw  you.  I  do  notJ 
say  I  like  you  now.  But — shake  hands." 

Reivers  hurriedly  shook  hands  and  tore  himself 
away.  He  had  resolved  to  go  without  seeing  Hattie, 
and  he  was  inwardly  raging  at  himself  because  he 
found  this  resolution  hard  to  keep.  He  laid  his  course 
for  the  nearest  rise  of  land,  half  a  mile  away.  Once 
over  the  rise  the  cabin  would  be  shut  out  of  sight, 
and  even  though  he  should  weaken  and  look  back 
there  would  be  no  danger  of  letting  her  see. 

Bent  far  over,  head  down,  lunging  along  with  the 
cunning  strides  of  the  trained  snowshoer,  he  topped 
the  rise  and  dropped  down  on  the  farther  side.  There 


218  The  Snow-Burner 

he  paused  to  rest  himself  and  draw  breath,  and  as  he 
stood  there  Hattie  MacGregor  and  her  dog-team  swept 
at  right  angles  across  his  trail. 

She  was  riding  boy-fashion,  half  sitting,  half  lying, 
on  the  empty  sledge,  driving  the  dogs  furiously  for 
their  daily  exercise.  She  did  not  speak.  She  merely 
looked  up  at  him  as  she  went  past.  Then  she  was 
gone  in  a  flurry  of  snow,  and  Reivers  went  forth  on  his 
quest  of  power  with  a  curse  on  his  lips  and  in  his 
heart  the  determination  that  no  weakening  memories 
of  a  girl's  wistful  eyes  should  interfere  with  his  aim. 


CHAPTER   XXVII 

ON  THE  TRAIL  OF  FORTUNE 

REIVERS  travelled  steadily  for  an  hour  at  the 
best  pace  that  was  in  him.  It  was  not  a  good 
pace,  for  he  was  far  from  being  in  his  old  physical 
condition,  and  the  lift  and  swing  of  a  snowshoe  will 
cramp  the  calves  and  ankle-tendons  of  a  man  grown 
soft  from  long  bed-lying,  no  matter  how  cunning 
may  be  his  stride. 

He  swore  a  little  at  first  over  his  slow  progress. 
He  was  like  a  wolf,  suddenly  released  from  a  trap, 
who  desires  to  travel  far,  swiftly  and  instantly,  and 
who  finds  that  the  trap  has  made  him  lame.. 

Reivers  wanted  to  put  the  MacGregor  cabin,  and 
the  scenes  about  it,  which  might  remind  him  of  Hattie, 
behind  him  with  a  rush.  But  the  rush,  he  soon  found, 
threatened  to  cripple  him,  so  he  must  perforce  give 
it  up.  The  trail  that  he  had  set  out  to  make  was 
not  one  that  any  man,  least  of  all  one  recently  con- 
valescent, could  hope  to  cover  in  a  single  burst  of 
speed. 

He  was  going  to  the  Winter  camp  of  the  people 
of  Tillie,  the  squaw.  The  camp  lay  somewhere  in 
the  northwest.  How  far  away  he  did  not  know ;  and 
it  was  no  part  of  his  plans  to  arrive  at  the  camp  of 
the  Chippewas  depleted  in  energy  and  resource.  The 
role  he  had  set  out  to  play  now  called  for  the  char- 
acter of  the  Snow-Burner  at  his  best — dominant,  un- 
conquerable. Therefore,  when  he  found  that  his  first 

219 


22O  THe  Snow-Burner 

efforts  at  speed  threatened  to  cripple  him  with  the 
treacherous  snow-shoe  cramp,  he  resigned  himself  to  a 
pace  which  would  have  shamed  him  had  he  been  in 
good  condition.  It  was  poor  snow-shoeing,  but  at  the 
end  of  an  hour  he  had  placed  between  himself  and 
all  possible  sight  of  Hattie  MacGregor  the  first  ragged 
rock-ramparts  of  the  Dead  Lands,  and  he  was  con- 
tent. 

On  the  western  slope  of  a  low  ridge  he  unstrapped 
his  snow-shoes  and  sat  down  on  a  bare  boulder  for  a 
rest.  His  heart  throbbed  nervously  from  his  exer- 
tion and  his  lungs  gasped  weakly.  But  with  each 
breath  of  the  crisp  air  his  strength  was  coming  back 
to  him,  and  in  his  head  the  brains  of  the  Snow-Burner 
worked  as  of  old.  He  smiled  with  great  self-satis- 
faction. He  was  not  considering  his  condition,  was 
not  counting  the  difficulties  that  lay  in  his  path.  He 
was  merely  picturing,  with  lightning-like  play  of  that 
powerful  mental  machinery  of  his,  the  desperate 
nature  of  the  adventure  toward  which  he  was  travel- 
ling. 

It  was  desperate  enough  even  to  thrill  Hell-Camp 
Reivers.  For  probably  never  did  born  adventurer  set 
forth  of  his  own  free  will  on  a  more  deadly,  more 
hopeless-looking  trail.  As  he  sat  on  the  rock  there 
in  the  Dead  Lands,  Reivers  was  in  better  condition 
than  on  his  flight  from  Cameron-Dam  Camp  to  this 
extent :  the  bullet-hole  in  his  shoulder  was  healed,  and 
he  had  recuperated  from  the  fever  brought  on  by 
exposure  and  exhaustion.  That  was  all.  He  was 
still  the  bare  man  with  empty  hands.  He  possessed 
nothing  in  the  world  but  the  clothes  he  stood  in,  the 
food  on  his  back  and  the  gift  snow-shoes  on  his  feet. 

He  had  not  even  a  knife  that  might  be  called  a 
weapon,  for  the  case-knife  that  old  MacGregor  had 
given  him  upon  parting  could  scarcely  be  reckoned 


On  the  Trail  of  Fortune        221 

such.  In  this  condition  he  was  setting  forth — first, 
to  find  a  cunningly  hidden  mine;  second,  to  take.it  and 
keep  it  for  his  own  from  one  Shanty  Moir,  who  treated 
his  henchmen  like  dogs  and  was  looked  up  to  as  a 
chieftain. 

The  Snow-Burner  lived  again  as  he  contemplated 
the  possibilities  of  a  clash  with  Moir.  If  what  the 
MacGregors  had  said  was  true,  Shanty  Moir  was  a 
boss  man  himself.  And  as  instinctively  and  eagerly  as 
one  ten-pronged  buck  tears  straight  through  timber, 
swamp  and  water  to  battle  with  another  buck  whose 
deep-voiced  challenge  proclaims  him  similarly  a  giant, 
so  Reivers  was  going  toward  Shanty  Moir. 

He  leaped  to  his  feet,  with  flashing  eyes,  at  the 
thought  of  what  was  coming.  Then  he  remembered 
his  weakened  condition  and  sat  down  again.  For 
the  immediate  present,  until  his  full  strength  returned, 
he  must  make  craft  take  the  place  of  strength. 

When  he  was  ready  to  start  again,  Reivers  took 
his  bearings  from  the  sun,  it  being  a  clear  day,  and 
laid  his  trail  as  straight  toward  the  northwest  as  the 
formation  of  the  Dead  Lands  would  allow.  He  slept 
that  night  by  a  hot  spring.  A  tiny  rivulet  ran  un- 
frozen from  the  spring  southward  down  into  the 
maze  of  barren  stone,  a  thread  of  dark,  steaming 
water,  wandering  through  the  white,  frozen  snow. 

Had  he  been  a  little  less  tried  with  the  day's  march 
Reivers  might  have  paid  more  attention  to  this  phe- 
nomenon that  evening.  In  the  morning  he  awoke  with 
such  eagerness  to  be  on  toward  his  adventure  that  he 
marched  off  without  bestowing  on  the  stream  more 
than  a  casual  glance.  And  later  he  came  to  curse  his 
carelessness. 

Bearing  steadily  toward  the  northwest,  his  course 
lay  in  the  Dead  Lands  for  the  greater  part  of  the  day. 
Shortly  before  sundown  he  saw  with  relief  that  ahead 


222  The  Snow-Burner 

the  rocks  and  ridges  gave  way  to  the  flat  tundra, 
with  small  clumps  of  stunted  willows  dotting  the 
flatness,  like  tiny"  islands  in  a  sea  of  snow. 

Reivers  quickened  his  pace.  Out  on  the  tundra  he 
hurried  straight  to  the  nearest  bunch  of  willows.  Even 
at  a  distance  of  several  rods  the  chewed  white  branches 
of  the  willows  told  him  their  story,  and  he  gave  vent 
to  a  shout  of  relief.  The  caribou  had  been  feeding 
there.  The  Chippewas  lived  on  the  caribou  in  Win- 
ter. He  had  only  to  follow  the  trail  of  the  animals 
and  he  would  soon  run  across  the  moccasin  tracks 
of  his  friends,  the  Indians. 

Luck  favoured  him  more  than  he  hoped  for.  At 
his  shout  there  was  a  crash  in  a  clump  of  willows  a 
hundred  yards  ahead  and  a  bull  caribou  lumbered 
clumsily  into  the  open.  At  the  sight  of  him  the 
beast  snorted  loudly  and  turned  and  ran.  From  right 
and  left  came  other  crashes,  and  in  the  gathering 
dusk  the  herd  which  had  been  stripping  the  willows 
fled  in  the  wake  of  the  sentinel  bull,  their  ungainly  gait 
whipping  them  out  of  sight  and  hearing  in  uncanny 
fashion. 

Reivers  smiled.  The  camp  of  Tillie's  people  would 
not  be  far  from  the  feeding  ground  of  the  caribou. 
He  ate  his  cold  supper,  crawled  into  the  shelter  of  the 
willows  and  went  to  sleep. 

Dry,  drifting  snow  half  hid  the  tracks  of  the  cari- 
bou during  the  night,  and  in  the  morning  he  was 
forced  to  wait  for  the  late-coming  daylight  before 
picking  up  the  trail.  The  herd  had  gone  straight 
westward,  and  Reivers  followed  the  signs,  his  eyes 
constantly  scanning  the  snow  for  moccasin  tracks 
or  other  evidence  of  human  beings. 

In  the  middle  of  the  forenoon,  in  a  birch  and  wil- 
low swamp,  he  jumped  the  animals  again.  They 
caught  his  scent  at  a  mile's  distance,  and  Reivers 


On  the  Trail  of  Fortune        223 

crouched  down  and  watched  avidly  as  they  streaked 
from  the  swamp  to  security. 

To  the  north  of  the  swamp  lay  the  open, 'snow- 
covered  tundra,  where  even  the  knife-like  fore-hoof 
of  the  caribou  would  have  hard  time  to  dig  out  a  living 
in  the  dead  of  Winter.  To  the  south  lay  clumps 
of  brush  and  stunted  trees,  ideal  shelter  and  feed. 

The  animals  went  north.  Reivers  nodded  in  great 
satisfaction.  There  were  wolves  or  Indians  to  the 
south,  probably  the  latter.  Accordingly  he  turned 
southward.  Toward  noon  he  found  his  first  moccasin 
track,  evidently  the  trail  of  a  single  hunter  who  had 
come  northward,  but  not  quite  far  enough,  on  a  hunt 
for  caribou. 

The  track  looped  back  southward  and  Reivers 
trailed  it.  Soon  a  set  of  snow-shoe  tracks  joined 
the  moccasins,  and  Reivers,  after  a  close  scrutiny  had 
revealed  the  Chippewa  pattern  in  the  snow,  knew  that 
he  was  on  the  right  track.  The  tracks  dropped  down 
on  to  the  bed  of  a  solidly  frozen  river  and  continued 
on  to  the  south. 

Other  tracks  became  visible.  When  they  gathered 
together  and  made  a  hard-packed  trail  down  the  middle 
of  the  river,  Reivers  knew  that  a  camp  was  not  far 
away,  and  grew  cautious. 

He  found  the  camp  as  the  swift  Winter  darkness 
came  on,  a  group  of  half  a  dozen  tepees  set  snugly 
in  a  bend  of  the  river,  one  large  tepee  in  the  middle 
easily  recognisable  as  that  of  Tillie,  the  squaw,  chief 
of  the  band. 

Reivers  sat  down  to  wait.  Presently  he  heard  the 
camp-dogs  growling  and  fighting  over  their  evening 
meal  and  knew  that  they  would  be  too  occupied  to 
notice  and  announce  the  approach  of  a  stranger.  Also, 
at  this  time  the  people  of  the  camp  would  be  in  their 
tepees,  supping  heavily  if  the  hunter's  god  had  been 


224  The  Snow-Burner 

favourably  inclined,  and  gnawing  the  cold  bones  of 
yesterday  if  that  irrational  deity  had  been  unkind. 

By  the  whining  note  in  the  growls  of  the  dogs, 
Reivers  judged  that  the  latter  was  the  case  this  even- 
ing; and  when  he  moved  forward  and  stood  listening 
outside  the  flap  of  the  big  tepee  he  knew  that  it  "was  so. 
Within,  an  old  squaw's  treble  rose  faintly  in  a  whining 
chant,  of  which  Reivers  caught  the  despairing  motif: 

Black  is  the  face  of  the  sun,  Ah  wo! 
The  time  has  come  for  the  old  to  die.    Ah  wo,  ah  wo! 
There  is  meat  only  to  keep  alive  the  young.    Ah  wo ! 
We  who  are  old  must  die.    Ah  wo !   Ah  wo !   Ah  wo ! 

Any  other  white  man  but  Reivers  would  have 
shuddered  at  the  terrible,  primitive  story  which  the 
wail  told.  Reivers  smiled.  His  old  luck  was  with 
him.  The  camp  was  short  of  meat  and  the  hunters 
had  given  up  hopes  of  making  a  kill. 

With  deft,  experienced  fingers  he  unloosed  the  flap 
of  the  tepee.  There  was  no  noise.  Suddenly  the  old 
squaw's  wail  ceased ;  those  in  the  tepee  looked  up  from 
their  scanty  supper.  The  Snow-Burner  was  stand- 
ing inside  the  tepee,  the  flap  closed  behind  him. 

There  were  six  people  in  the  tepee,  the  old  squaw, 
an  old  man,  two  young  hunters,  a  young  girl,  and 
Tillie.  They  were  gathered  around  the  fire-stone  in 
the  centre,  making  a  scant  meal  of  frozen  fish.  Tillie, 
by  virtue  of  her  position,  had  the  warmest  place  and 
the  most  fish. 

No  one  spoke  a  word  as  they  became  aware  of 
his  presence.  Only  on  Tillie's  face  there  came  a  look 
in  which  the  traces  of  hunger  vanished.  Reivers  stood* 
looking  down  at  the  group  for  a  moment  in  silence. 
Then  he  strode  forward,  thrust  Tillie  to  one  side  and 
sat  down  in  her  place.  For  Reivers  knew  Indians. 


On  the  Trail  of  Fortune        225 

"Feed  me,"  he  commanded,  tossing  his  grub-bag 
to  her. 

He  did  not  look  at  her  as  she  placed  before  him 
the  entire  contents  of  the  bag.  Having  served  him 
she  retired  and  sat  down  behind  him,  awaiting  his 
pleasure.  Reivers  ate  leisurely  of  the  bountiful  supply 
of  cold  meat  that  remained  of  his  supply.  When 
he  had  his  fill  he  tossed  small  portions  to  the  old 
squaw,  the  old  man  and  the  young  girl. 

"Hunters  are  mighty,"  he  mocked  in  the  Ghippewa 
tongue,  as  the  young  men  avidly  eyed  the  meat.  "They 
kill  what  they  eat.  The  meat  they  do  not  kill  would 
stick  in  their  mighty  throats." 

Last  of  all  he  beckoned  Tillie  to  come  to  his  side 
and  eat  what  remained. 

"Men  eat  meat,"  he  continued,  looking  over  the 
heads  of  the  two  hunters.  "Old  people  and  children 
are  content  with  frozen  fish.  When  I  was  here  be- 
fore there  were  men  in  this  camp.  There  was  meat 
in  the  tepees.  The  dogs  had  meat.  Now  I  see  the 
men  are  all  gone." 

One  of  the  hunters  raised  his  arms  above  his  head, 
a  gesture  indicating  strength,  and  let  them  fall  re- 
signedly to  his  side,  a  sign  of  despair. 

"The  caribou  are  gone,  Snow-Burner,"  he  said  dully. 
"That  is  why  there  is  no  meat.  All  gone.  The  god 
of  good  kills  has  turned  his  face  from  us.  Little 
Bear—  "  to  the  old  man — "how  long  have  our  people 
hunted  the  caribou  here?" 

Little  Bear  lifted  his  head,  his  wizened,  smoked 
face  more  a  black,  carved  mask  than  a  human  coun- 
tenance. 

"Big  Bear,  my  father,  was  an  old  man  when  I  was 
born,"  he  said  slowly.  "When  he  was  a  boy  so  small 
that  he  slept  with  the  women,  our  people  came  here 
for  the  Winter  hunt." 


226  The  Snow-Burner 

"Oh,  Little  Bear,"  chanted  the  hunter,  "great  was 
your  father,  the  hunter;  great  were  you  as  a  hunter 
in  your  young  days.  Was  there  ever  a  Winter  be- 
fore when  the  caribou  were  not  found  here  in  plenty?" 

The  old  man  shook  his  head. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner,"  said  the  hunter,  "these  are 
the  words  of  Little  Bear,  whose  age  no  one  knows. 
Always  the  caribou  have  been  plenty  here  along  this 
river  in  the  Winter.  Longer  than  any  old  man's  tales 
reach  back  have  they  fed  upon  the  willows.  They 
are  not  here  this  Winter.  The  gods  are  angry  with  us. 
We  hunt.  We  hunt  till  we  lie  flat  on  the  snow.  We 
find  no  signs.  There  are  men  still  here,  Snow-Burner, 
but  the  caribou  have  gone." 

"Have  gone,  have  gone,  have  gone.  Ah  wo!" 
chanted  the  old  squaw. 

"Where  do  you  hunt  ?"  asked  Reivers  tersely. 

"Where  we  have  always  hunted ;  where  our  fathers 
hunted  before  us,"  was  the  reply.  "Along  the  river  in 
the  muskeg  and  bush  to  the  south  we  hunt.  The  cari- 
bou are  not  there.  They  are  nowhere.  The  gods 
have  taken  them  away.  We  must  die  and  go  where 
they  are." 

"We  must  go,"  wailed  the  old  squaw.  "The  gods 
refuse  us  meat.  We  must  go." 

Her  chant  of  despair  was  heard  beyond  the  tepee. 
In  the  smaller  tents  other  voices  took  up  the  wail.  The 
women  were  singing  the  death  song,  their  primitive 
protest  and  acquiescence  to  what  they  considered  the 
irrevocable  pleasure  of  their  dark  gods. 

Reivers  waited  until  the  last  squaw  had  whined 
herself  into  silence.  Even  then  he  did  not  speak  at 
once.  He  knew  that  these  simple  people,  who  for 
his  deeds  had  given  him  the  expressive  name  of  Snow- 
Burner,  were  waiting  for  him  to  speak,  and  he  knew 
the  value  of  silence  upon  their  primitive  souls.  He 


On  the  Trail  of  Fortune        227 

sat  with  folded  arms,  looking  above  the  heads  of  the 
two  hunters. 

"You  have  done  well,"  he  said,  nodding  impres- 
sively, but  not  looking  at  the  two  young  men.  "You 
have  hunted  as  men  who  have  the  true  hunter's  heart. 
But  what  can  man  do  when  the  gods  are  against  him  ? 
The  gods  are  against  you.  They  are  not  against  me. 
To-morrow  I  slay  you  your  fill  of  caribou." 

"Snow-Burner,"  whispered  one  of  the  hunters  in 
the  awe-stricken  silence  that  followed  this  announce- 
ment, "there  are  no  caribou  here.  Are  you  greater 
than  the  gods?" 

Reivers  looked  at  him,  and  at  the  light  in  his  eyes 
the  young  man  drew  back  in  fright. 

"To-morrow  I  give  you  your  fill  of  meat,"  he  said 
slowly.  "Not  only  enough  for  one  day,  but  enough 
for  all  Winter.  Each  tepee  shall  be  piled  high  with 
meat.  Even  the  dogs  shall  eat  till  they  want  no  more. 
I  have  promised.  I  alone.  Do  you — "  he  pointed 
at  the  hunters — "bring  me  to-night  the  two  best  rifles 
in  the  camp.  If  they  do  not  shoot  true  to-morrow,  do 
not  let  me  find  you  here  when  I  return  from  the  hunt. 
And  now  the  rest  of  you — all  of  you — go  from  here. 
Go,  I  will  be  alone." 

They  rose  and  went  out  obediently,  except  Tillie 
who  watched  Reivers's  face  with  avid  eyes  as  the 
young  girl  left  the  tepee.  Then  she  crawled  forward 
and  touched  her  forehead  to  his  hand,  for  Reivers 
had  not  bestowed  upon  the  girl  a  glance. 

Presently  the  hunters  came  back  and  placed  their 
Winchesters  at  his  feet.  He  examined  each  weapon 
carefully,  found  them  in  perfect  order  and  fully 
loaded,  and  dismissed  the  men  with  a  wave  of  his  arm. 
Tillie  sat  with  bowed  head,  humbly  waiting  his  pleas- 
ure, but  Reivers  rolled  himself  in  his  blanket  and  lay 
down  alone  by  the  fire. 


228  The  Snow-Burner 

"I  wish  to  sleep  warm,"  he  said.  "See  that  the 
fire  does  not  go  out  till  the  night  is  half  gone.  Be 
ready  to  go  with  me  in  the  hour  before  daylight.  Have 
the  swiftest  and  strongest  team  of  dogs  and  the  larg- 
est sledge  hitched  and  waiting  to  bear  us  to  the  hunt. 
Go!  Now  I  sleep." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

THE  SNOW-BURNER  HUNTS 

THE  snarling  of  dogs  being  put  into  harness  awoke 
him  in  the  morning,  but  he  lay  pretending  to 
sleep  until  Tillie,  having  overseen  the  hitching-up, 
came  in,  prepared  food  over  the  fire,  which  had  not 
gone  out  all  night,  and  came  timidly  and  laid  a  hand 
on  his  shoulder. 

It  was  pitch  dark  when  they  went  from  the  tepee. 
The  dogs  whined  at  the  prospect  of  a  dark  trail,  and 
the  hunter  who  held  them  plied  his  whip  savagely. 
With  the  rifles  carefully  stowed  in  their  buckskin  cases 
on  the  sledge,  and  a  big  camp-axe,  as  their  whole  bur- 
den, Reivers  immediately  took  command  of  the  dogs 
and  headed  down  the  river. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner !"  chattered  the  frozen  hunter  in 
disappointment.  "There  are  no  caribou  to  the  south. 
It  is  a  waste  of  strength  to  hunt  there." 

"There  are  no  caribou  anywhere  for  you,"  retorted 
Reivers.  "For  me  it  does  not  make  any  difference 
where  I  hunt;  the  spirits  are  with  me.  Stay  close  to 
the  tepees  to-day.  If  any  one  follows  my  trail  the 
spirits  will  refuse  their  help.  Hi-yah!  Mush!" 

Under  the  sting  of  his  skiffully  wielded  whip  the  big 
team  whirled  down  the  river,  Reivers  riding  in  front, 
Tillie  behind.  But  they  did  not  go  south  for  long.  A 
few  miles  below  the  camp  Reivers  abruptly  swung  the 
dogs  off  the  river-bed  and  bore  westward. 

Half  a  mile  of  this  and  he  shifted  and  changed 
229 


230  The  Snow-Burner 

his  course  to  right  angles,  straight  toward  the  north. 

"And  now,  mush!  you!  Mush  for  all  that's 

in  you !"  he  cried,  plying  the  whip.  "You've  got  many 
miles  to  cover  before  daylight.  Mush,  mush!" 

He  held  straight  northward  until  he  left  the  bush 
and  reached  the  open  tundra  at  the  spot  where  the 
caribou  the  day  before  had  swung  away  farther  north. 
He  knew  that  the  herd,  being  in  a  country  undisturbed 
by  man,  would  not  travel  far  from  the  willows  where 
he  had  jumped  them  the  day  before,  and  he  held  cau- 
tiously on  their  trail  until  the  first  grey  of  daylight 
showed  a  rise  in  the  land  ahead.  Here  he  halted 
the  dogs  and  crept  forward  on  foot. 

It  was  as  he  expected.  The  caribou  had  halted 
on  the  other  side  of  the  height  of  land,  feeling  secure 
in  that  region  where  no  man  ever  came.  Below  him 
he  could  see  them  moving,  and  he  realised  that  he  must 
act  at  once,  before  they  began  their  travels  of  the  day. 

"Tillie,"  he  whispered,  coming  back  to  the  sledge, 
"as  soon  as  you  can  see  the  snow  on  the  knoll  ahead 
do  you  drive  the  dogs  around  there,  to  the  right,  and 
swing  to  the  left  along  the  other  side  of  the  knoll. 
Drive  fast  and  shout  loud.  Shout  as  if  the  wolves 
had  you.  There  are  caribou  over  the  knoll.  When 
the  dogs  see  them  let  them  go  straight  for  the  herd. 
But  wait  till  the  snow  shows  white  in  the  daylight." 

Snatching  both  rifles  from  their  covers,  he  ran 
around  the  left  shoulder  of  the  knoll  and  ambushed  in 
a  trifling  hollow.  He  waited  patiently,  one  rifle 
cocked  and  in  his  hand,  the  other  lying  ready  at  his 
side.  The  light  grew  broader;  the  herd,  just  out  of 
safe  rifle  shot,  began  milling  restlessly. 

Suddenly,  from  around  the  right  of  the  knoll,  came 
the  sharp  yelp  of  a  dog  as  Tillie's  leader,  rounding 
the  ridge,  caught  scent  and  sight  of  living  meat  ahead. 
The  caribou  stopped  dead.  Then  bedlam  broke  loose 


4The  Snow-Burner  Hunts       231 

as  the  dogs  saw  what  was  before  them.  And  the 
caribou,  trembling  at  the  wolf -yells  of  the  dogs,' broke 
into  their  swift,  lumbering  run  and  came  streaking 
straight  past  Reivers  at  fifty  yards'  distance. 

Reivers  waited  until  the  maddened  beasts  were  run- 
ning four  deep  before  him.  Then  the  slaughter  be- 
gan. No  need  to  watch  the  sights  here.  The  crash  of 
shot  upon  shot  followed  as  quickly  as  he  could  pump 
the  lever.  There  were  ten  shots  in  each  rifle,  and  he 
fired  them  all  before  the  herd  was  out  of  range. 
Then  only  the  hideous  yelps  of  the  maddened  dogs 
tore  the  morning  quiet.  A  dozen  caribou,  some  dead, 
some  kicking,  some  trying  to  crawl  away,  were  scat- 
tered over  the  snow,  and  Reivers  nodded  and  knew 
that  his  hold  on  Tillie's  people  was  complete. 

The  dogs  were  on  the  first  caribou  now,  snarling, 
yelping,  fighting,  eating,  for  the  time  being  as  wild 
and  savage  as  any  of  their  wolf  forebears.  Tillie, 
spilled  from  the  sledge  in  the  first  mad  rush  of  the 
team,  came  waddling  up  to  Reivers  and  bowed  down 
before  him  humbly. 

"Snow-Burner,  I  know  you  are  only  a  man,  because 
I  alone  of  my  people  have  seen  you  among  other 
white  men,"  she  said.  "Yet  you  are  more  than  other 
men.  Snow-Burner,  I  have  lived  among  white  people 
and  know  that  the  talk  of  spirits  is  only  for  children. 
But  how  knew  you  that  the  caribou  were  here  ?" 

"The  meat  is  there,"  said  Reivers,  pointing  at  his 
kill.  "Your  work  is  to  take  care  of  it.  The  axe  is  on 
the  sledge.  Cut  off  as  many  saddles  and  hind-quarters 
as  the  dogs  can  drag  back  to  camp.  The  rest  we  will 
cache  here.  To  your  work.  Do  not  ask  questions." 

He  reloaded  and  put  the  wounded  animals  out  of 
their  misery,  each  with  a  shot  through  the  head,  and 
sat  down  and  watched  her  as  she  slaved  at  her  butcher's 
task.  Tillie  had  lived  among  white  people,  had  been 


232  The  Snow-Burner 

to  the  white  man's  school  even,  but  Reivers  knew 
he  would  slacken  his  hold  on  her  if  he  demeaned  him- 
self by  assisting  her  in  her  toil. 

When  the  dogs  had  stayed  their  hunger  he  leaped 
into  their  midst  with  clubbed  rifle  and  knocked  them 
yelping  away  from  their  prey.  When  they  turned  and 
attacked  him  he  coolly  struck  and  kicked  till  they  had 
enough.  Then  with  the  driving  whip  he  beat  them 
till  they  lay  flat  in  the  snow  and  whined  for  mercy. 

By  the  time  Tillie  had  the  sledge  loaded  and  the 
rest  of  the  kill  cached  under  a  huge  heap  of  snow, 
it  was  noon,  and  the  dogs  started  back  with  their 
heavy  load,  open-mouthed  and  panting,  their  excite- 
ment divided  between  fear  of  the  man  who  had  mas- 
tered them  and  the  odour  of  fresh  blood  that  reeked 
in  their  avid  nostrils. 


CHAPTER    XXIX 

THE  WHITE  MAN'S  WILL 

THAT  night  in  the  camp  at  the  river  bend  the 
Indians  feasted  ravenously,  and  Reivers,  sitting 
in  Tillie's  place  as  new-made  chief,  looked  on  with- 
out smiling. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner!"  said  the  oldest  man  at  last. 
"What  is  it  you  want  with  us?  Our  furs?  Speak. 
We  obey  your  will." 

"Furs  are  good,"  replied  Reivers,  "when  a  man  has 
nothing  else,  but  gold  is  better,  and  the  gold  that  an- 
other man  has  is  best  of  all." 

The  old  man  cackled  respectfully. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner !  Do  you  come  to  us  for  gold  ? 
Do  you  think  we  would  sit  here  without  meat  if  we 
had  gold?  No,  Snow-Burner.  What  we  have  you 
can  have.  Your  will  with  the  tribe  from  the  oldest 
to  the  youngest  is  our  law.  We  owe  you  our  lives. 
The  strength  of  our  young  men  is  yours  -;  the  wisdom 
of  our  old  heads  is  yours.  But  gold  we  have  not.  Do 
not  turn  your  frown  upon  us,  Snow-Burner;  you 
must  know  it  is  the  truth." 

"Since  when,"  said  Reivers  sternly,  "has  my  friend, 
old  Little  Bear,  dared  say  that  the  Snow-Burner  has 
the  foolishness  of  a  woman  in  his  head  ?  Do  you  think 
I  come  seeking  gold  from  you  ?  No.  It  is  the  strength 
of  your  young  men  and  the  wisdom  of  your  old  heads 
that  I  want.  I  seek  gold.  You  shall  help  me  find  it." 

Little  Bear  raised  his  arms  and  let  them  fall  in 
the  eloquent  Indian  gesture  of  helplessness. 


234  The  Snow-Burner 

"White  men  have  been  here  often  to  seek  for  gold. 
The  great  Snow-Burner  once  was  one  of  them.  They 
have  digged  holes  in  the  ground.  They  have  taken  the 
sand  from  creek  bottoms.  Did  the  Snow-Burner,  who 
finds  caribou  where  there  are  none,  find  any  gold  here  ? 
No.  It  is  an  old  story.  There  is  no  gold  here." 

Reivers  leaned  forward  and  spoke  harshly. 

"Listen,  Little  Bear;  listen  all  you  people.  There 
is  gold  within  three  days'  march  from  here.  Much 
gold.  Another  man  digs  it.  You  will  find  it  for  me. 
I  have  spoken." 

Silence  fell  on  the  tepee.  The  Indians  looked  at 
one  another.  Little  Bear  finally  spoke  with  bowed 
head. 

"We  do  the  Snow-Burner's  will." 

Nawa,  the  youngest  and  strongest  of  the  hunters, 
turned  to  Reivers  respectfully. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner,  Nawa  serves  you  with  the 
strength  of  his  leg  and  the  keenness  of  his  eyes.  Nawa 
knows  that  the  Snow-Burner  sees  things  that  are  hid- 
den to  us.  Our  oldest  men  say  there  is  no  gold  here. 
Other  white  men  say  there  is  no  gold  here.  The  Snow- 
Burner  says  there  is  gold  near  here. 

"The  Snow-Burner  sees  what  is  hidden  to  others. 
Nawa  does  not  doubt.  Nawa  waits  only  the  Snow- 
Burner's  commands.  But  Nawa  has  been  to  the  set- 
tlements at  Fifty  Mile  and  Dumont's  Camp.  He  has 
heard  the  white  men  talk.  They  talk  there  of  a  man 
who  carries  gold  like  gunpowder  and  gold  like  bullets 
instead  of  the  white  man's  money. 

"Nawa  has  talked  with  Indians  who  have  seen 
this  man.  They  call  him  'Iron  Hair,'  because  his  hair 
is  black  and  stiff  like  the  quills  of  a  porcupine.  Oh, 
Snow-Burner,  Nawa  knows  nothing.  He  merely  tells 
what  he  has  heard.  Is  this  the  man  the  Snow-Burner, 
too,  has  heard  of!" 


The  White  Man's  Will         235 

Reivers  looked  around  the  circle  of  smoke-blackened 
faces  about  the  fire.  No  expression  betrayed  what  was 
going  on  behind  those  wood-like  masks,  but  Reivers 
knew  Indians  and  sensed  that  they  were  all  waiting 
excitedly  for  his  answer. 

"That  is  the  man,"  he  said,  and  by  the  complete 
silence  that  followed  he  knew  that  his  reply  had 
caused  a  sensation  that  would  have  made  white  men 
swear.  "What  know  you  of  Iron  Hair,  Nawa?" 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner,"  said  Nawa  dolefully,  "our  tribe 
knows  of  Iron  Hair  to  its  sorrow.  Two  moons  ago 
the  big  man  with  the  hair  like  a  porcupine  was  at 
Fifty  Mile  for  whisky  and  food.  He  hired  Small  Eyes 
and  Broken  Wing  of  our  tribe  to  haul  the  food  to 
his  camp,  a  day's  travelling  each  way,  so  he  said.  The 
pay  was  to  be  big.  Small  Eyes  and  Broken  Wing 
went.  So  much  people  know.  Nothing  more.  The 
sledges  did  not  come  back.  Small  Eyes  and  Broken 
Wing  did  not  come  back.  So  much  do  we  know  of 
Iron  Hair.  Nawa  has  spoken." 

"Once  there  were  men  in  these  tepees,"  said  Reivers, 
looking  high  above  Nawa's  head.  "Once  there  were 
men  who  would  have  gone  from  their  tepees  to  follow 
to  the  end  the  trail  of  their  brothers  who  go  and  do 
not  come  back.  Now  there  are  no  men.  They  sit  in 
the  tepees  with  the  women  and  keep  warm.  Perhaps 
Small  Eyes  and  Broken  Wing  were  men  and  did  not 
care  to  come  back  to  people  who  sit  by  their  fires 
and  do  not  seek  to  find  their  brothers  who  disappear." 

"We  have  sought,  oh,  Snow-Burner,"  said  Nawa 
hopelessly.  "Do  not  think  we  have  only  sat  by  our 
fires.  We  sought  to  follow  the  trail  of  Iron  Hair 
out  of  Fifty  Mile " 

"How  ran  the  trail?"  interrupted  Reivers. 

"Between  the  north  and  the  west.  We  went  to 
hunt  our  brothers.  But  a  storm  had  blotted  out  the 


236  The  Snow-Burner 

trail.  Iron  Hair  had  gone  out  in  the  storm.  Who  can 
follow  when  there  is  no  trail  to  see  ?" 

"Once,"  resumed  Reivers  in  the  tone  of  contempt, 
"there  were  strong  dog-drivers  and  sharp  eyes  here. 
They  would  have  found  the  camp  of  Iron  Hair  in 
those  days." 

"Our  dogs  still  are  strong,  our  young  men  drive 
well,  our  eyes  are  sharp  even  now,  Snow-Burner," 
came  Nawa's  weary  reply.  "We  searched.  Even  as 
we  searched  for  the  caribou  we  searched  for  the  camp 
of  Iron  Hair.  We  found  no  camp.  There  is  no 
white  man's  camp  in  this  country.  There  is  no  camp 
at  all.  We  searched  till  nothing  the  size  of  a  man's 
cap  could  be  hidden.  The  white  men  from  Dumont's 
Camp  and  Fifty  Mile  have  searched  for  the  gold  which 
white  men  are  mad  for.  They  found  nothing.  At 
the  settlements  the  white  men  say,  'This  man  must  be 
the  devil  himself  and  go  to  hell  for  his  gold,  because 
his  camp  certainly  is  not  in  this  world  where  men  can 
see  it  with  their  eyes.' ' 

"And  the  caribou  were  not  in  this  world,  either?" 
mocked  Reivers. 

Nawa  shook  his  head. 

"White  men,  too,  have  looked  for  the  camp  of 
Iron  Hair." 

"Many  white  men,"  supplemented  old  Little  Bear. 
"White  men  always  look  when  they  hear  of  gold. 
They  find  gold  if  it  is  to  be  found.  The  earth  gives 
up  its  secrets  to  them.  Snow-Burner,  thev  could  not 
find  the  place  where  Iron  Hair  digs  his  gold." 

"Nawa  and  his  hunters  could  not  find  the  caribou," 
said  Reivers. 

There  was  no  reply.     He  had  driven  his  will  home. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner,"  said  Nawa,  at  last,  "as  Little 
Bear  has  said,  we  do  your  will." 

"Good ;"  Reivers  rose  and  towered  over  them.    "My 


The  White  Man's  Will        237 

will  at  present  is  that  you  go  to  your  tepees.  Sleep 
soundly.  I  have  work  for  you  in  the  morning." 

He  stood  and  watched  while  they  filed,  stooped  'over, 
through  the  low  opening  in  the  tepee  wall.  They 
went  without  question,  without  will  of  their  own.  A 
stronger  will  than  theirs  had  caught  them  and  held 
them.  From  hence  on  they  were  wholly  subservient 
to  the  superior  mentality  which  was  to  direct  their 
actions.  Reivers  smiled.  Old  MacGregor  had  felt 
safe  in  telling  about  the  mine;  a  strange  man  had  no 
chance  to  find  it.  But  MacGregor  did  not  know  of 
Tillie's  people. 

Reivers  suddenly  turned  toward  the  fire.  Tillie 
was  standing  there,  arrayed  in  buckskin  so  white  that 
she  must  have  kept  it  protected  from  the  tepee  smoke 
in  hope  of  his  coming.  At  the  sight  of  her  there  came 
before  Reivers'  eyes  the  picture  of  Hattie  MacGregor's 
face  as  she  had  looked  up  at  him  when  he  was  leav- 
ing the  MacGregor  cabin.  The  look  that  came  over 
his  face  then  was  new  even  to  Tillie. 

"You,  too,  get  out !"  he  roared,  and  Tillie  fled  from 
the  tepee  in  terror. 


CHAPTER  XXX 

ANY  MEANS   TO   AN   END 

IN  the  big  tepee  Reivers  rolled  on  his  blankets  and 
cursed  himself  for  his  weakness.  What  had  hap- 
pened to  him?  Was  he  getting  to  be  like  other  men, 
that  he  would  let  the  memory  of  an  impudent,  red- 
haired  girl  interfere  with  his  plans  or  pleasures  ?  Had 
he  not  sworn  to  forget?  And  yet  here  came  the 
memory  of  her — the  wide  grey  eyes,  the  suffering 
mouth,  the  purity  of  the  look  of  her — rising  before  his 
eyes  like  a  vision  to  shame  him. 

To  shame  him!  To  shame  the  Snow-Burner!  He 
understood  the  significance  of  the  look  she  had  given 
him,  and  which  had  stood  between  him  and  Tillie. 
Womanhood,  pure,  noble  womanhood,  was  appealing 
to  his  better  self. 

His  better  self !  Reivers  laughed  a  laugh  so  ghastly 
that  it  might  have  come  from  a  bare  skull.  His  better 
self!  If  a  man  believed  in  things  like  that  he  had  to 
believe  in  the  human  race — had  to  believe  in  good- 
ness and  badness,  virtue  and  sin,  right  and  wrong,  and 
all  that  silly,  effeminate  rot.  Reivers  didn't  believe  in 
that  stuff.  He  knew  only  one  life-law,  that  of  strength 
over  weakness,  and  that  was  the  law  he  would  live 
and  die  with,  and  Miss  Hattie  MacGregor  could  not 
interfere. 

With  his  terrible  will-power  he  erased  the  memory 
of  her  from  his  mind.  He  did  not  erase  the  resent- 

238 


Any  Means  to  An  End        239 

ment  at  his  own  weakness.  On  the  contrary,  the 
resentment  grew.  He  would  revenge  himself  for  that 
moment  of  weakness. 

There  were  two  ways  of  finding  Moir  and  the  mys- 
terious mine.  One — the  way  he  had  first  planned  to 
follow — was  to  scatter  his  Indians,  and  as  many 
others  as  he  could  bribe  with  caribou  meat,  over  the 
country  lying  to  the  south  of  Fifty  Mile,  where  he 
knew  the  mine  must  be.  Moir,  or  his  men,  must  show 
themselves  sooner  or  later.  In  time  the  Indians  would 
find  Moir's  camp. 

But  there  was  also  a  shorter  and  surer  way — a 
shameful  way.  Moir,  by  the  talk  he  had  heard  of  him, 
came  to  Fifty  Mile  and  Dumont's  Camp  for  such 
whisky  and  feminine  company  as  might  be  found.  He 
had  even  sent  one  of  his  henchmen  to  steal  Hattie 
MacGregor.  Such  a  move  proved  that  Moir  was 
desperate,  and  by  this  time,  by  the  non-appearance  of 
the  would-be-kidnapper,  the  chief  would  know  that  his 
man  was  either  killed  or  captured,  and  that  no  hope 
for  a  woman  lay  in  that  quarter.  Moir's  next  move 
would  be  to  come  to  Fifty  Mile  and  Dumont's,  or 
to  send  a  man  there,  to  procure  the  means  of  salving 
his  disappointment.  And  Reivers  had  two  attractive 
women  at  his  disposal,  Tillie,  and  the  young  girl  who 
was  nearly  beautiful.  Thus  did  Reivers  overcome  his 
momentary  weakness.  The  black  shame  fulness  of  his 
scheme  he  laughed  at.  Then  he  went  to  sleep. 

He  gave  his  orders  to  Tillie  early  next  morning. 

"Have  this  tepee  and  another  one  loaded  on  one 
sledge,"  he  directed.  "Have  a  second  sledge  loaded 
with  caribou  meat.  Do  you  and  the  young  girl  pre- 
pare to  come  with  me.  We  are  going  on  a  long 
journey.  You  will  both  take  your  brightest  clothes." 

He  waited  with  set  jaws  while  his  orders  were 
obeyed.  No  weakness  any  more.  There  was  only 


240  [The  Snow-Burner 

one  law,  the  strong  over  the  weak,  and  he  was  the 
strong  one. 

A  call  from  Tillie  apprised  him  that  all  was  ready, 
and  he  strode  forth  to  find  Nawa,  the  young  hunter, 
waiting  with  the  two  women  ready  for  the  trail. 

"How  so?"  he  demanded.  "Did  I  say  aught  about 
Nawa?" 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner,"  whispered  Tillie,  "Neopa  is 
to  be  Nawa's  squaw  with  the  coming  of  Spring.  They 
wish  to  go  together." 

"And  I  do  not  wish  them  to  go  together,"  said 
Reivers  harshly.  "Give  me  that  rifle."  He  took  the 
weapon  from  Nawa's  hands.  "Do  you  stay  here  and 
eat  caribou  meat  and  grow  fat  against  the  coming  of 
Spring,  Nawa." 

"Snow-Burner,"  said  Nawa,  a  flash  of  will  lighting 
his  eyes  for  the  moment,  "does  Neopa  come  back  to 
me?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  Reivers,  cocking  the  rifle.  "But  if 
you  try  to  follow  you  will  never  come  back.  Is  it 
understood  ?" 

Nawa  bowed  his  head  and  turned  away.  Neopa 
made  as  if  to  run  to  him,  but  Reivers  caught  her 
brutally  and  threw  her  upon  the  lead  sledge.  He 
had  resolved  to  travel  the  way  of  shame,  no  matter 
what  the  cost  to  others. 

"Mush !  Get  on !"  he  roared  at  the  dogs,  and  with 
the  rifle  ready  and  with  a  backward  glance  at  Nawa,, 
he  drove  away  for  Fifty  Mile  and  Dumont's  Camp. 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

THE    SQUAW-MAN 

A  DAY  after  Reivers  drove  out  of  the  Indian 
camp,  Dumont's  Camp  had  something  to  talk 
about.  A  half-witted,  crippled-up  squaw-man  went 
through  with  a  couple  of  squaws,  and  the  youngest 
of  the  squaws  was  a  beaut' !  The  old  bum  hadn't 
stopped  long,  just  long  enough  to  trade  a  chunk  of 
caribou  meat  for  a  bottle  of  hooch,  but  long  enough, 
nevertheless,  to  let  the  gang  get  a  peek  at  the  squaws. 

Dumont's  Camp  opined  that  it  was  a  good  thing 
for  the  old  cripple  that  he  hadn't  stayed  longer,  else 
he  might  have  found  himself  minus  his  squaws,  espe- 
cially the  young  one.  But  Dumont's  Camp  would  have 
been  mightily  puzzled  had  it  seen  how  the  limp  and 
stoop  went  out  of  the  squaw-man's  body  the  moment 
he  had  left  their  camp  behind,  how  the  foolish  leer 
and  stuttering  speech  disappeared  from  his  mouth, 
and  how,  straight-backed  and  stern-visaged,  he  threw 
the  bottle  of  hooch  away  in  contempt  and  hurried  on 
toward  Fifty  Mile. 

Reivers  had  played  many  strange  parts  in  his 
tumultuous  life,  and  his  squaw-man  was  a  master- 
piece. Fifty  Mile  had  its  sensation  early  next  morn- 
ing. The  half-witted,  crippled-up  squaw-man  with 
the  two  extremely  desirable  squaws  came  through, 
stopped  for  another  bottle  of  hooch,  and  drove  on  and 
made  camp  just  outside  the  settlement. 

"He  certainly  was  one  soft-headed  old  bum,"  said 
241 


242  The  Snow-Burner 

Jack  Raftery,  leaning  on  the  packing-case  that  served 
as  bar  in  his  logcabin  saloon.  "Yes,  men,  he  certainly 
is  bumped  in  the  bean  and  locoed  in  his  arms.  Gim- 
me that  chunk  o'  meat  there  for  a  bottle  o'  hooch. 
'Bout  fifty  pounds,  it'll  weigh.  I'd  give  'im  a  gallon, 
but  he  grins  foolish  and  says:  'Bottle.  One  bottle.' 
'Drag  your  meat  in,'  says  I.  Well,  gents,  will  you 
b'lieve  he  couldn't  make  it.  No,  sir;  paralysed  in  the 
arms  or  something. 

"That  young  squaw  o'  his  did  the  toting.  A  beaut'  ? 
Gents,  there  never  was  anything  put  up  in  a  brown 
hide  to  touch  it.  An'  that  locoed  ol'  bum  running 
'round  loose  with  it.  Tempting  providence,  that's 
what  he  is,  when  he  comes  parading  'round  real  men- 
folks  with  skirts  like  them.  Shouldn't  wonder  if 
something'd  happen  to  him  one  o'  these  cold  days. 
Looks  like  he  might  'a'  been  an  awful  good  man  in 
his  day,  too.  Well  built.  Reckon  he's  been  used 
mighty  rough  to  be  locoed  and  crippled  up  the  way 
he  is." 

"I  reck-ong,"  drawled  Black  Pete,  who  ran  the 
games  at  Raftery's  when  there  was  any  money  in 
sight.  "I  reck-ong  too  mebbe  he  get  handle  more 
rough  some  tarn  ef  he's  hang  'round  long  wid  dem 
two  squaw.  Tha'  small  squaw's  too  chic,  she,  to 
b'long  to  ol'  bum  lak  heem." 

The  assembled  gents  laughed.  Had  they  seen  the 
"ol'  bum"  at  that  moment  their  laughter  would  have 
been  cut  short.  Reivers,  in  a  gully  out  of  sight  of  the 
settlement,  had  thrown  away  his  hooch,  pitched  camp, 
tethered  the  dogs  and  made  all  secure  with  a  swiftness 
and  efficiency  that  belied  the  characterisation  Black 
Pete  had  applied  to  him.  He  had  the  two  tepees  set 
up  far  apart,  the  dogs  tied  between  them,  and  Tillie 
and  Neopa  had  one  tepee,  and  Reivers  the  other,  alone. 

Having  made  camp,  Reivers  knew  what  the  boys 


The  Squaw-Man  243 

would  expect  of  him  in  his  character  of  sodden  squaw- 
man.  Having  resolved  to  use  the  most  shameful  means 
in  the  world  to  achieve  his  end,  he  played  his  base  part 
to  perfection. 

"Do  you  take  this  chunk  of  meat,"  he  directed 
Tillie,  "and  go  down  to  the  saloon  and  get  another 
bottle  of  hooch.  Yes,  yes;  I  know  I  have  destroyed 
one  bottle.  You  are  not  to  ask  questions  but  to  obey 
my  commands.  Go  down  and  trade  the  meat  for 
hooch.  Do  not  stop  to  speak  to  the  white  men.  Come 
back  at  once.  Go!" 

But  down  in  Raftery's  the  assemblage  had  no  hint 
of  these  swift  changes,  and  they  laughed  merrily  at 
Black  Pete's  remarks. 

"What  d'you  reckon  his  lay  is,  Jack?"  asked  one. 

"Booze,"  replied  Raftery  instantly.  "Nothing  else. 
When  you  see  a  man  who's  sure  been  as  good  a  man 
in  his  day  as  this  relic,  trailing  'round  with  squaw 
folks,  you  can  jest  nacherlly  whittle  a  little  marker 
for  him  and  paint  on  it,  *  'Nother  white  man  as  the 
hooch  hez  got/  Sabbe?  I  trace  him  out  as  some 
prospector  who's  got  crippled  up  and  been  laying  out 
'mongst  the  Indians  with  a  good  supply  of  the  ol' 
frost-bite  cure  'longside  of  'im.  Nothin'  to  do  but 
tuh  hit  the  jug  off  en  enough  to  keep  from  gettin'  sober 
and  remembering  what  he  used  to  was.  Sabbe  ?  Been 
layin'  out  sucking  the  neck  of  a  jug  till  his  ol'  thinker's 
got  twisted. 

"I've  seen  dozens  of  'em.  You  can't  fool  me  when 
I  see  one,  and  I  saw  him  when  he  was  comin'  through 
the  door.  Ran  out  o'  hooch  and  was  afraid  he'd  get 
sober,  so  he  comes  down  here  to  get  soaked  up  some 
more.  Brings  his  load  o'  meat  'long  to  trade  in,  an' 
these  two  brown  dolls  to  make  sure  in  case  the  caribou 
have  been  down  this  way,  which  they  ain't.  Bet  the 
drinks  against  two  bits  that  he'll  be  chasm'  one  o'  the 


244  The  Snow-Burner 

squaws  down  here  for  another  bottle  before  an  hour's 
gone.  They  all  do.  I've  seen  his  kind  before." 

Black  Pete  took  the  bet. 

"Because  I'm  onlucky,  moi,  lately,  an'  I  want  to  lose 
this  bet,"  he  explained. 

Raftery  laughed  homerically. 

"What's  on  you'  chest,  Jack?"  demanded  one  of  his 
friends. 

"I  was  just  thinking,"  gurgled  the  saloonist,  "what 
'ud  happen  in  case  this  stiff  gent,  Iron  Hair,  was  to  run 
in  'bout  this  time." 

"By  Gar!"  laughed  Pete.  "An'  Iron  Hair,  he's 
just  'bout  due." 

At  that  moment  Tillie  came  waddling  in,  laid  down 
her  bundle  of  meat  before  Raftery  and  said — 

"One  bottle." 

"What'd  I  tell  you?"  chuckled  Raftery,  handing 
over  the  liquor.  "Boss  him  get  laid  out,  eh  ?"  he  said 
to  Tillie. 

But  Tillie  did  not  pause  for  conversation.  She 
whipped  the  bottle  under  her  blanket  and  waddled  out 
without  a  word. 

"Well,  I'm  a  son-of-a-gun !"  proclaimed  Raftery. 
"That  ol'  bum  has  got  'em  well  trained,  anyhow." 

Black  Pete  pulled  his  beard  reflectively. 

"Come  to  theenk,"  he  mused  aloud,  "dere  was  wan 
rifle  on  those  sledge.  I  theenk  mebbe  I  no  go  viseet 
thees  ol'  bum,  he's  camp,  teel  she's  leetle  better  ac- 
quaint' weeth  moi." 


CHAPTER  XXXII 

THE  SCORN  OF  A  PURE  WOMAN 

AND  Fifty  Mile  talked.  It  talked  to  all  who  came 
in  from  the  white  wastes  of  the  country  around. 
It  talked  in  its  tents.  It  talked  while,  trifling  with 
Black  Pete's  games  of  no-chance.  It  talked  around 
Raftery's  bar.  It  talked  so  loudly  that  men  heard  it  up 
at  Dumont's  Camp. 

From  Fifty  Mile  and  Dumont's  the  talk  spread  up 
and  down  the  trails,  and  even  out  to  solitary  cabins 
and  dugouts  where  there  were  no  trails.  Wherever 
men  were  to  be  found  in  that  desolate  region  the  talk 
of  Fifty  Mile  soon  made  its  way.  And  the  talk  was 
mainly  of  the  young  squaw,  of  the  old  crippled-up 
squaw-man,  and  that  she  was  of  a  beauty  to  set  men's 
heads  a-whirling  and  make  them  murder  each  other 
for  her  possession. 

Men  meeting  each  other  on  the  trails  asked  three 
questions  in  order: 

"Where  you  traveling?  How's  your  tobacco? 
Heard  about  the  beaut'  of  a  little  squaw  down  to  Fifty 
Mile?" 

Men  travelling  in  the  direction  of  the  settlements 
bent  their  steps  toward  Fifty  Mile,  even  though  it 
lay  far  out  of  their  course.  Men  travelling  in  the 
opposite  direction  passed  the  news  to  all  whom  they 
bespoke.  Of  those  who  came  to  the  settlement,  many 
strolled  casually  up  the  gully  where  the  squaw-man 
had  his  camp.  And  all  of  them  strolled  down  again 

245 


246 


The  Snow-Burner 


with  nothing  to  brag  about  but  a  drink  of  hooch  and 
a  mouthful  of  talk  with  the  squaw-man. 

"I  don't  quite  follow  that  gent's  curves,"  summed 
up  Jack  Raftery,  speaking  for  the  gang.  "He  gets 
enough  hooch  here  to  keep  any  human  gent  laid  out 
twenty-six  hours  out  of  the  twenty-four,  but  somehow 
whenever  you  come  moseying  up  to  his  camp  he's  on 
his  pins,  ready  to  give  you  a  drink  and  a  lot  of  locoed 
talk.  Yessir,  he  sure  is  locoed  until  he  needs  a  guard- 
ian, but  for  one  I  don't  go  to  do  no  rushing  of  his 
lady-folks,  not  while  he's  able  to  stand  on  his  pins 
and  keep  his  eyes  moving.  Gents,  there's  been  one 
awful  stiff  man  in  his  day,  and  his  condition  goes  to 
show  what  booze'll  do  to  the  best  of  'em,  and  ought  to 
be  a  warning  to  us  all.  Line  up,  men;  'bout  third 
drink  time  for  me." 

"There  is  sometheeng  about  heem,"  agreed  Black 
Pete,  "I  don't  know  what  'tees,  but  there  is  some- 
theeng that  whispairs  to  me,  'Look  out !' ' 

While  Fifty  Mile  thus  debated  his  character,  Reivers 
lay  in  his  tepee,  carefully  playing  the  shameful  part  he 
had  assumed.  He  knew  that  by  now  the  news  of  his 
arrival,  or  rather  the  arrival  of  Neopa  and  Tillie,  had 
been  bruited  far  and  wide  around  the  settlements.  Soon 
the  news  must  come  to  the  ears  of  the  man  for  whose 
benefit  the  scheme  had  been  arranged. 

Shanty  Moir,  being  what  he  was,  would  become 
interested  when  he  heard  the  descriptions  of  Neopa, 
and,  also  because  he  was  what  he  was,  he  would  waste 
no  time,  falter  at  no  risks,  stop  at  nothing  when  his 
interest  had  been  aroused.  Reivers  had  only  to  wait. 
Moir  would  come.  The  only  danger  was  that  Hattie 
and  her  uncle  might  come  before  him. 

On  the  third  day  after  the  squaw-man's  arrival, 
Fifty  Mile  had  a  second  sensation.  That  morning, 
as  Reivers,  staggering  artistically,  came  out  of  Raf- 


The  Scorn  of  a  Pure  Woman    247 

tery's  house  of  poison,  he  all  but  stumbled  over  a 
sledge  before  the  door.  With  his  assumed  grin  of 
idiocy  growing  wider,  he  examined  the  sledge  care- 
fully, next  the  team  which  was  hitched  to  it,  then 
lifted  his  eyes  to  the  man  and  woman  that  stood  be- 
side the  outfit.  At  the. first  glance  he  had  recognised 
the  sledge,  and  he  needed  the  time  thus  gained  to  re- 
cover from  the  shock. 

"Hello,  Mac,  ol'  timer!"  he  bellowed  drunkenly  at 
Duncan  MacGregor.  "Come  have  a  drink  with  me." 

MacGregor  looked  at  him  dourly,  disgust  and  anger 
on  his  big  red  face.  Hattie,  at  his  side,  looked  away, 
her  lips  pressed  tightly  together  to  control  the  anger 
rising  within  her.  She  had  gone  deadly  pale  at  the 
first  sight  of  Reivers;  now  the  red  of  shame  was 
burning  in  her  cheeks. 

"I  shook  hands  with  you,  stranger,  when  you  left 
our  roof,"  said  MacGregor  gruffly.  "I  do  not  do  so 
now.  I  thought  you  were  a  man." 

"I  never  did!"  snapped  Hattie,  still  looking  away. 
"I  knew  it  was  not  a  man."  Something  like  a  sob 
seemed  to  wrench  itself  from  her  chest  in  spite  of  her 
firm  lips.  "I  knew  it  was — just  what  it  is." 

Suddenly  she  flared  around  on  Reivers,  her  face  wan 
with  mingled  pain,  shame  and  anger. 

"Now  you  are  doing  just  what  you  are  fit  for.  I've 
heard.  Living  on  your  squaws!  And  you  dared  to 
talk  big  to  me — to  a  decent  woman.  Blood  of  my 
father!  You  dared  to  talk  to  me  at  all!  Drive  on, 
Uncle.  We'll  go  on  to  Dumont's.  We'll  get  away 
from  this  thing;  it  pollutes  the  air.  Hi-yah,  Bones ! 
Mush,  mush,  mush!" 

Reivers  leered  and  grinned  foolishly — for  the  bene- 
fit of  the  onlookers — as  the  sledge  went  on  out  of 
sight. 

"See?"  he  said  boastfully.     "I  used  to  know  white 


248  The  Snow-Burner 

folks  once.  Yes  sir;  used  to  know  lot  of  'em.  Don't 
now.  Only  know  Indians.  S'long,  boys;  got  to  go 
home." 

All  that  day  he  sat  alone  in  his  tepee.  Tillie  came 
to  him  at  noon  with  food  and  he  cursed  her  and 
drove  her  away.  In  the  evening  she  came  to  him 
again,  and  again  Reivers  ordered  her  not  to  lift 
the  flap  on  his  tepee. 

Tillie  by  this  time  was  fully  convinced  that  the 
Snow-Burner  had  gone  mad.  Else  why  had  he  re- 
pulsed all  her  advances  ?  Why  had  he  refused  to  look 
at  the  young  and  attractive  Neopa?  And  now  he 
even  spurned  food.  Yes,  the  Snow-Burner  had  gone 
mad,  as  white  men  sometimes  go  mad  in  the  North ; 
but  she  was  still  his  slave.  That  was  her  fate. 

Reivers  sat  alone  in  his  tepee,  once  more  fighting 
to  put  away  the  face  of  Hattie  MacGregor  as  it  rode 
before  his  eyes,  a  burning,  searing  memory.  He  was 
not  faltering.  The  shame  for  him,  because  he  was 
a  white  man,  because  she  had. once  had  him  under  her 
roof,  that  Hattie  MacGregor  had  suffered  as  she  saw 
him  now,  did  not  swerve  him  in  the  least  from  the 
way  he  was  going. 

He  had  decided  to  do  it  this  way.  That  was  settled. 
The  shame  and  degradation  of  his  assumed  position 
he  had  reckoned  and  counted  as  naught  in  the  game 
he  was  playing.  Any  means  to  an  end.  These  same 
men  who  were  despising  him  for  a  sodden  squaw-man 
would  bow  their  heads  to  him  when  the  game  was  won. 
And  he  would  win  it,  the  memory  of  the  face  of  Hattie 
MacGregor  would  not  halt  him  in  the  least.  Rather  it 
would  spur  him  on.  For  when  the  game  was  won,  he 
would  laugh  at  her — and  forget. 

For  the  present  it  was  a  little  hard  to  forget.  That 
was  why  he  sat  alone  in  the  tepee  and  swore  at  Tillie 
when  she  timidly  offered  to  bring  him  food. 


The  Scorn  of  a  Pure  Woman    249 

So  the  red-headed  girl  thought  that  of  him,  did  she 
— that  he  was  living  on  his  squaws  ?  Well,  let  her 
think  it.  What  difference  did  it  make?  She  thought 
he  was  that  base,  did  she  ?  All  right.  She  would  pay 
for  it  all  when  the  time  came. 

Reivers  roused  himself  and  strode  outdoors.  His 
thoughts  persisted  in  including  Hattie  MacGregor 
in  their  ramblings  as  he  sat  in  the  tepee,  and  he  felt 
oppressed.  What  he  needed  was  to  mingle  with  other 
men.  He'd  forget,  then.  He  condemned  the  company 
that  was  to  be  found  at  Raftery's,  but  his  need  for 
distraction  drove  him  and,  assuming  the  stoop,  limp 
and  leer  of  the  sodden  squaw-man,  he  slumped  off 
down  the  gully  to  the  settlement. 

It  was  a  clear,  starlit  night,  and  as  he  slumped  along 
he  mused  on  what  a  fine  night  it  would  be  for  pick- 
ing out  a  trail  by  the  stars.  As  he  approached  Raf- 
tery's he  saw  and  heard  evidences  of  unusual  activity 
in  the  bar.  A  team  of  eight  dogs,  hitched  to  an 
empty  sledge,  was  tied  before  the  door.  Within  there 
was  sound  of  riot  and  wassail.  Over  the  sound  of 
laughter  and  shuffling  feet  rose  a  voice  which  drowned 
the  other  noises  as  the  roar  of  a  lion  drowns  the 
chirping  of  birds,  a  voice  that  rattled  the  windows  in 
a  terrifying  rendition  of  "Jack  Hall." 

Oh,  I  killed  a  man  'tis  said,  so  'tis  said; 

I  killed  a  man  'tis  said,  so  'tis  said. 

I  kicked  'is  bloody  head,  an'  I  left  'im  lyin'  dead; 

Yes,  I  left  'im  lyin'  dead 'is  eyes! 

Reivers  opened  the  door  and  strode  in  silently  and 
unobserved.  He  made  a  base,  contemptible  figure  as, 
stooped  and  shuffling,  a  foolish  leer  on  his  face,  he 
stood  listening  apologetically  to  the  song.  The  broad 
back  of  the  singer  was  turned  toward  him.  As  the 


250  The  Snow-Burner 

song  ended  Raftery's  roaming  eye  caught  sight  of 
Reivers. 

"Ah,  there  he  is;  here  he  is,  Iron  Hair.  There's 
the  man  with  the  squaws  I  was  telling  you  about." 

The  man  swung  around,  and  Reivers  was  face  to 
face  with  the  man  he  sought,  Shanty  Moir. 


CHAPTER  XXXIII 

SHANTY   MOIR 

REIVERS'  tumultuous  scheme  of  life  often  had  led 
him  into  situations  where  his  life  had  hung  on  his 
ability  to  play  artistically  the  part  he  had  assumed. 
But  never  had  his  self-control  been  put  to  such  a  test 
as  now,  when  he  faced  Shanty  Moir. 

Had  he  not  prepared  himself  for  a  shock,  his  sur- 
prise must  surely  have  betrayed  him,  for  even  the 
Snow-Burner  could  not  look  upon  Shanty  Moir  with- 
out amazement.  To  Reivers,  the  first  impression  that 
came  was  that  he  was  looking  at  something  as  raw 
and  primitive  as  the  sources  of  life  itself. 

Shanty  Moir  had  little  or  nothing  in  common  with 
the  other  men  in  the  room.  He  was  even  shaped 
differently.  He  belonged,  so  it  seemed  to  Reivers, 
to  the  age  of  the  saber-tooth  tiger,  the  long-haired 
mammoth,  and  a  diet  of  roots  and  raw  flesh. 

There  was  about  him  the  suggestion  of  man  just 
risen  to  the  dignity  of  an  upright  position.  His  body 
was  enormous — longer,  wider,  denser  than  a  man's 
body  should  be;  the  legs  beneath  it  short  and  bowed. 
There  was  no  neck  that  could  be  seen.  His  arms 
seemed  to  begin  close  up  to  the  ears,  and  ran  down- 
ward in  curves,  like  giant  calipers,  the  hands  even  with 
the  knees. 

The  head  fitted  the  body,  squat  and  enormous,  the 
forehead  running  abruptly  back  from  the  brows,  and 
the  face  so  flat  and  bony  that  the  features  seemed 

251 


252  The  Snow-Burner 

merely  to  dent  it.  The  brow-bones  came  down  and 
half  hid  the  small  eyes;  the  nose  was  small,  but  a 
pair  of  great  nostrils  ran  back  in  the  skull;  the  mouth 
was  huge,  yet  it  seemed  small,  and  there  was  more 
of  the  head  below  it  than  above. 

Iron  Hair  was  well  nicknamed.  His  hair  was  prob- 
ably three  inches  long,  and  it  stood  out  straight  from 
his  head — black,  wiry,  menacing.  Reivers,  with  his 
foolish  grin  growing  larger  on  his  face,  appraised 
Moir  with  considerable  admiration.  Here  was  the 
real  thing,  the  pure,  unadulterated  man-animal,  un- 
weakened,  untouched  by  efreminising  civilisation.  This 
man  knew  no  more  law  or  conscience  than  the  ancient 
cave-tiger,  whose  only  dictates  sprang  from  appetite. 

Reivers  had  rejected  morals  because  it  pleased  him 
to  run  contrary  to  all  the  rest  of  the  world ;  this  man 
never  knew  that  right  or  wrong  existed.  What  his 
appetites  told  him  to  take  he  took  as  a  matter  of 
course.  And  it  was  written  in  his  face  that  his  ap- 
petites were  as  abnormally  powerful  as  was  he. 

Reivers  had  been  a  leader  of  men  because  his  mind 
was  stronger  than  the  minds  of  the  men  with  whom 
he  had  dealt.  This  man  was  a  leader  because  of  the 
blind,  unintelligent  force  that  was  in  him.  And  in- 
wardly the  fighting  man  in  Reivers  glowed  at  the 
prospects  of  the  Titanic  clash  that  would  come  be- 
tween them. 

Shanty  Moir  as  he  looked  from  under  his  bony  brows 
saw  exactly  what  Reivers  wished  him  to  see :  a  drunken 
broken  squaw-man,  so  weak  that  he  could  not  possibly 
be  the  slightest  source  of  trouble.  Being  primitive  of 
mind  he  listed  Reivers  at  once  as  helpless.  Having 
done  this,  nothing  could  alter  his  opinion ;  and  Reivers 
had  gained  the  vantage  that  he  sought. 

Moir   threw   back    his   head    and   laughed,    softly 


Shanty  Moir  253 

and  behind  set  teeth,  when  his  quick  inspection  of 
Reivers  was  ended. 

"So  that's  tuh  waster  who's  got  tuh  squaws  'at 
hass  tuh  camp  upset,"  he  said  languidly.  "Eh,  son- 
nies! Art  no  men  among  ye  that  ye  have  not  gone 
woman-stealing  by  this?  Tuh  waster  does  not  look 
hard  to  take  a  young  woman  from." 

Reivers  broke  into  an  apologetic  snigger. 

"Don't  you  try  to  steal  my  two  kids,  mister,"  he 
whined.  "You'd  be  mighty  sorry  for  your  bargain  if 
you  did." 

"How  so,  old  son?"  demanded  Moir  with  a  toler- 
ant laugh. 

"Them  kids — if  you  was  to  steal  them  without  my 
permission — one  or  both  of  'em — they'd  make  you 
wish  you'd  never  seen  'em — 'less  I  was  along," 
chuckled  Reivers. 

"Speak  it  up,  old  son,"  said  Moir  sharply.  "What's 
behind  thy  fool's  words?" 

"Them  kids — they'd  die  if  they  was  took  away 
from  me,"  replied  Reivers  seriously.  "And  they'd 
take  the  man  who  stole  'em  to  the  happy  hunting 
ground  along  with  'em."  He  winked  prodigiously. 
"Lots  of  funny  things  in  this  ol'  world,  mister.  You 
wouldn't  think  to  look  at  me  that  those  two  kids 
wouldn't  want  to  live  if  I  wasn't  with  'em,  but  that's 
the  fact.  I  wasn't  always  what  I'm  now,  mister. 
Once — well,  I  was  different  once — and  them  kids  will 
just  nacherlly  manage  to  poison  the  first  man  who 
touches  'em — unless  I  give  the  word." 

The  men  of  Fifty  Mile  looked  at  one  another,  and 
Black  Pete  shuddered. 

"The  ol'  moocher  sure  has  got  'em  trained,  Iron 
Hair,"  said  Raftery.  "He's  locoed,  but  those  squaws 
look  up  to  him  like  a  little  tin  god,  and  that's  no  lie." 


254  The  Snow-Burner 

"Poison  ?'"  repeated  Moir  doubtingly.  "Art  a  medi- 
cine man,  old  son  ?" 

Reivers  shook  his  head  loosely. 

"Not  me,  mister,  not  me,"  he  chuckled.  "It's  some- 
thing Indian  that  I  don't  sabbe.  But  there's  a  couple 
graves  'way  up  where  we  came  from,  and  they  hold 
what's  left  of  a  couple  of  bad  men  who  raided  my 
camp  and  stole  my  kids.  I  don't  know  how  it  hap- 
pened, mister.  The  kids  come  back  to  me  the  same 
night,  and  the  two  bad  men  were  stiff  and  black — as 
black  as  your  hair,  mister,  after  the  first  kiss." 

"The  kiss  of  Death,"  chimed  in  Black  Pete,  cross- 
ing himself.  "I  have  heard  of  eet.  S acre  I  I  am  the 
lucky  dog,  moi." 

Shanty  Moir  nodded.  He,  too,  had  heard  of  the 
method  by  which  Indian  women  of  the  North  on  rare 
occasions  revenge  themselves  upon  the  brutal  white 
men  who  steal  them  from  their  people.  Having  often 
indulged  in  that  thrilling  sport  himself,  Moir  was  well 
versed  in  the  obstacles  and  dangers  to  be  met  in  its 
pursuit.  Being  crafty,  with  the  craft  of  the  lynx 
that  eschews  the  poisoned  deer  carcass,  he  had  thus 
far  managed  to  select  his  victims  from  the  breed  of 
squaws  that  do  not  seriously  object  to  playing  a  Sabine 
part;  and  he  had  no  intention  of  decreasing  his  cau- 
tion now,  although  what  men  had  spoken  of  Neopa 
had  fired  his  blood. 

"Ho,  ho!  I  see  how  'tis,  old  son,"  he  said  with  a 
grin  of  appreciation.  "Dost  manage  well  for  a 
waster." 

He  suddenly  drew  his  hand  from  his  mackinaw 
pocket  and  held  it  out,  opened,  toward  Reivers.  Two 
jagged  nuggets  of  dull  gold  the  size  of  big  buckshot 
jiggled  on  his  palm,  and  Moir  laughed  uproariously 
as  Reivers,  at  the  sight  of  them,  bent  forward,  rub- 


Shanty  Moir  255 

bing  his  hands  together,  apparently  frantic  with  avar- 
ice. 

"Eh — hey !"  drawled  Moir,  closing  his  fist  as  Reiv- 
ers' fingers  reached  for  the  gold.  "I  thought  so.  'Tis 
tub  gold  thy  wants,  eh,  old  sonny?  Well,  do  thee 
bring  me  tuh  cattle  to  look  at  and  we'll  try  to  bargain." 

"Come  up  to  my  camp,"  chattered  Reivers,  eying 
the  fist  that  contained  the  nuggets.  He  was  anxious 
to  get  out  of  the  bar.  He  had  no  fear  that  the  primi- 
tive Moir  would  be  able  to  see  any  flaw  in  his  act- 
ing, but  Black  Pete  and  Jack  Raftery  were  less  primi- 
tive, and  he  knew  that  they  had  not  quite  accepted 
him  for  the  weakling  that  he  pretended  to  be.  "Come 
and  visit  me.  Buy  a  bottle  of  hooch  and  we  go  up 
to  my  camp." 

Moir  tossed  one  of  the  nuggets  across  the  bar  to 
Raftery. 

"Is't  good  for  a  round,  lad?"  he  laughed. 

Raftery  cunningly  hefted  the  nugget  and  set  out 
the  bottles. 

"Good  for  two/'  he  replied. 

Moir  tossed  over  the  second  nugget. 

"Then  that's  good  for  four,"  said  he.  "Do  ye  boys 
drink  it  up  while  I'm  away  to  tuh  camp  of  old  sonny 
here.  A  bottle,  Raftery.  Now,  sonny,  do  thee  lead  on, 
and  if  I'm  not  satisfied  I'll  wring  thy  neck  to  let  thee 
know  my  displeasure." 


THE  BARGAIN 

REIVERS  led  the  way  to  his  tepee  and  bade  Moir 
wait  a  moment  by  the  fire,  while  he  spoke  to 
Tillie.  ''Dress  yourself  and  Neopa  in  your  newest," 
he  commanded.  "Then  do  you  both  come  in  to  me, 
bringing  food  for  two  men." 

"What's  wrong,  sonny?"  laughed  Moir,  seeing 
Reivers  come  under  the  door  flap  alone.  "Hast  lost 
the  whip  over  thy  cattle  ?" 

"They're  getting  some  grub  ready,"  replied  Reivers 
fawningly.  "They'll  be  here  in'  a  minute.  Let's 
have  a  drink  out  of  that  bottle,  mister.  That's  the 
stuff." 

He  tipped  the  bottle  to  his  lips  and  lowered  the 
burning  liquor  in  a  fashion  that  made  even  Moir 
open  his  eyes  in  admiration. 

"Takest  a  man-sized  nip  for  a  broken  waster, 
sonny,"  he  chuckled,  and  measuring  with  his  fingers 
on  the  bottle  a  drink  larger  than  Reivers'  he  tossed  it 
gurgling  down  his  hairy  throat.  Reivers  took  the 
bottle  from  his  hand. 

"I  always  take  an  eye-opener  before  my  real  drink," 
said  Reivers,  and,  measuring  off  twice  the  amount  that 
Moir  had  taken,  he  drank  it  off  like  so  much  water. 

The  fiercest  liquor  made  was  to  Rivers  only  a  mild 
stimulant.  On  his  abnormal  organisation  it  merely 
had  the  effect  of  intensifying  his  characteristics.  When 
he  wished  to  drink  whisky  he  drank — out  of  full-sized 

256 


The  Bargain  257 

water  tumblers.  When  he  did  not  wish  to  drink  he  put 
liquor  from  him  with  contempt.  Now  he  handed  the 
bottle  back  to  Moir.  The  latter  looked  at  him  and  at 
the  bottle,  a  trifle  puzzled  but  not  dismayed.  Reivers 
had  apparently  unconsciously  passed  the  challenge  to 
him,  and  it  was  not  in  his  nature  to  play  second  to  any 
man  in  a  drinking  bout. 

"Shouldst  have  taken  all  thee  wanted  that  time, 
sonny,"  said  Moir,  and  finished  the  bottle. 

"No  more?"  muttered  Reivers  vacantly. 

"Gallons !"  replied  Moir.  "Whisky  enough  to  drown 
you  dead — if  your  women  satisfy." 

"Look  at  them,"  said  Reivers  as  the  door-flap  was 
flung  back.  "Here  they  are." 

Tillie  came  in  first.  She  was  dressed  in  white  buck- 
skin, her  hair  hanging  in  two  thick  braids  down  her 
shoulders.  Neopa  followed,  and  the  wistfulness  that 
had  come  into  her  face  from  thinking  of  Nawa  made 
her  the  more  interesting  in  Shanty  Moir's  eyes. 

A  glance  from  Neopa's  fawn-like  eyes  at  the  big 
man  whom  Reivers  had  brought  home  with  him,  and 
then  her  eyes  sought  the  ground  and  she  trembled. 
Tillie  looked  at  Moir  with  interest.  Save  for  the 
Snow-Burner,  she  had  never  seen  so  masterful  a  man. 
She  looked  at  Reivers  and  saw  that  he  was  not  watch- 
ing her.  So  she  smiled  upon  Moir  slyly.  She  was  the 
Snow-Burner's  slave ;  his  will  was  her  law.  But  since 
he  refused  to  notice  her  smiles  it  would  do  no  harm 
to  smile  upon  a  man  like  this  Iron  Hair — just  a 
little,  when  the  Snow-Burner  was  not  looking. 

Moir  read  the  smile  wrong  and  spoke  sharply  to 
Reivers. 

"Take  the  young  one  outside  for  two  minutes. 
I've  a  word  to  say  to  this  one." 

To  his  surprise  Reivers  rose  without  demur,  thrust 
Neopa  out  before  him,  and  dropped  the  flap. 


258  The  Snow-Burner 

"Listen,"  whispered  Moir  swiftly  in  her  own  tongue 
to  Tillie,  "we  will  put  his  man  out  of  the  way.  It  is 
easily  done.  Then  you  will  go  with  me,  you  and  the 
young  one,  and  you  will  be  first  in  my  tepee  and  the 
young  one  your  slave.  Speak  quickly.  We  will  be 
on  the  trail  in  an  hour." 

Still  smiling  invitingly,  Tillie  shook  her  head. 

"The  Snow-Burner  is  the  master,"  she  said  seri- 
ously. "I  will  slay  the  man  who  does  him  harm.  I 
can  not  do  what  he  does  not  wish.  I  can  not  go 
away  from  him." 

"But  when  he  is  dead,  fool,  he  can  have  no  wish." 

The  smile  went  from  Tillie's  full  lips  and  she  took  a 
step  toward  the  opening. 

"Stop,"  laughed  Moir  softly.  "I  merely  wished  to 
know  if  you  are  a  true  woman.  All  right,  old  sonny !" 
he  called.  "Come  on  in." 

"I  takest  off  cap  to  you,  lad,"  he  continued  as  Reiv- 
ers and  Neopa  re-entered.  "Hast  got  thy  squaws  fair 
buffaloed."  His  eyes  ran  over  the  shrinking  Neopa 
in  cruel  appraisal.  "Now,  old  sonny,  out  with  it. 
What's  thy  idea  of  tuh  bargain?" 

Reivers  looked  longingly  toward  the  empty  whisky 
bottle. 

"Said  enough,"  laughed  Moir.  "Shall  have  all  tuh 
hooch  thy  guts  can  hold." 

Reivers  shook  his  head,  a* sly  grin  appearing  on 
his  lips. 

"Hooch  is  good,"  said  he,  "but  gold  is  better." 

"Go  on,"  said  Moir  sullenly. 

"You've  got  gold,"  continued  Reivers.  "I  saw  it. 
You've  got  lots  of  gold;  I've  heard  them  talk  about 
you  down  at  Raftery's.  You  want  us  to  go  with  you 
when  you  go  back  to  your  camp,  don't  you  ?" 

Moir  nodded  angrily. 


The  Bargain  259 

"I  want  the  women,"  he  said  brutally.  "I  might 
be  able  to  use  you,  too." 

Reivers  cackled  and  rubbed  his  hands. 

"You've  got  to  use  me  if  you're  going  to  have  the 
women,"  he  chuckled.  "You  know  that  by  this  time, 
don't  you,  mister?" 

Again  Moir's  black  head  nodded  in  grudging  assent. 

"What  then?"  he  demanded. 

"I'm  a  handy  man  around  a  camp,  mister,"  whined 
Reivers.  "You  got  to  take  me  along  if  you  take  the 
women,  but  I  can  be  a  help " 

"Canst  cook?"  snapped  Moir  suddenly. 

"Heh,  heh!  Can  I  cook?"  Reivers  rubbed  his 
hands.  "I'm  an  old — I  used  to  be  an  old  sour-dough, 
mister.  Did  you  ever  see  one  of  the  old-timers  who 
couldn't  cook?" 

"Might  use  thee  then,"  said  Moir.  "My  fool  of  a 
cook  has  gone.  Sent  him  after  a  woman  for  me,  and 
he  hasn't  come  back.  Happen  he  got  himself  killed, 
tuh  fool.  Wilt  kill  him  myself  if  he  ever  shows  up 
without  tuh  woman.  Well,  then,  if  that's  settled — 
what's  tuh  bargain?" 

Reivers  appeared  to  struggle  with  indecision.  In 
reality  the  situation  was  very  clear  to  him.  Moir 
had  listed  him  as  a  weakling;  therefore  he  had  no  fear 
of  taking  him  to  the  mine.  Once  there,  Moir  would 
be  confident  of  winning  the  loyalty  of  the  two  women 
from  their  apparent^  helpless  master.  And  as  it 
was  apparent  that  the  man  whom  Reivers  had  slain 
with  a  rock  had  been  Moir's  cook,  it  was  probable , 
that  he  was  sincere  in  his  offer  to  use  Reivers  in 
that  capacity. 

"In  the  Spring,"  said  Reivers  in  reply  to  Moir's 
question,  "me  and  my  two  kids  go  north  again,  back 
among  their  own  people." 

"In  the  Spring,"  growled  Moir,  "canst  go  to 


260  The  Snow-Burner 

for  all  of  me.  I'll  be  travelling  then  myself.  Speak 
out,  sonny.  How  much?" 

"Plenty  of  hooch  for  me  all  Winter,"  Reivers 
leered  with  drunken  cunning. 

"I  said  plenty,"  retorted  Moir.    "What  else?" 

"Gold,"  said  Reivers,  rubbing  his  hands.  "Gold 
enough  to  buy  me  hooch  for  all  next  Summer." 

Moir  smiled  at  the  miserable  request  of  the  man  he 
was  dealing  with.  His  eyes  ran  over  the  plump  Tillie, 
over  Neopa,  the  supple  child-woman. 

"Done,"  he  laughed.  "And  now,  old  son,  break 
up  thy  camp  while  I  load  my  sledge  with  hooch.  Be 
ready  to  travel  when  I  come  back.  I'll  bring  plenty 
of  liquor,  but  none  to  be  drinked  till  we're  on  the  trail. 
Wilt  travel  fast  and  far  to-night,  I  warn  thee.  But 
willst  have  a  snug  berth  in  my  camp  when  we  get 
there.  Yes,"  he  laughed  as  he  hurried  out,  "wilt  not 
be  able  to  tear  thyself  away." 


CHAPTER  XXXV 

THE  TEST  OF   THE  BOTTLE 

UNDER  Reivers'   sharp  orders — given  in  a  way 
that  would  have  startled  Moir  had  he  heard — 
Tillie  and   Neopa  hurriedly  packed   the  dog-sledges 
with  their  belongings,  harnessed  the  dogs  and  hooked 
them  to  the  traces. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner,"  said  Neopa  timidly,  "do  we 
go  back  to  Nawa?" 

"In  good  time,"  said  Reivers.  "For  the  present, 
you  have  only  to  obey  my  wishes.  Get  on  the  first 
sledge." 

With  bowed  head  the  girl  took  the  place  directed, 
and  Reivers  turned  to  find  Tillie  smiling  craftily  at 
his  elbow. 

"Snow-Burner,"  she  said  softly,  "this  is  the  man, 
Iron  Hair,  who  digs  the  gold  which  you  want.  We 
go  to  rob  him.  I  understand.  You  play  at  drinking 
to  fool  Iron  Hair.  It  is  well.  Tillie  will  help  the 
Snow-Burner.  We  will  kill  Iron  Hair  and  take  his 
gold.  Then  the  Snow-Burner  will  come  with  Tillie 
to  her  tepee?" 

Reivers  looked  at  her,  and  for  the  first  time  he 
felt  a  revulsion  against  the  base  part  he  was  playing. 
Would  he  return  with  Tillie  to  her  tepee  when  this 
affair  was  over?  Would  he  go  on  with  his  old  way 
of  living,  the  base  part  of  him  triumphant  over  the 
better  self?  The  strange  questions  rapped  like  trip- 
hammers on  Reivers'  conscience. 

261 


262  The  Snow-Burner 

"Get  on  the  sledge!"  he  growled,  choked  with 
anger. 

She  did  not  stir.  He  struck  her  cruelly.  Tillie 
smiled.  That  was  like  the  Snow-Burner  of  old;  and 
she  waddled  to  her  appointed  place  without  further 
question. 

Up  the  gulch  from  Raftery's  came  Moir  quietly 
leading  his  dogs,  the  sledge  well  loaded  with  cases 
of  liquor. 

"Wilt  have  a  kiss  first  of  all,"  he  laughed  excitedly, 
and  catching  Neopa  in  his  arms  tossed  her  in  the  air, 
kissed  her  loudly  on  her  averted  cheeks  and  set  her 
back  on  the  sledge.  "Now,  old  son,  follow  and  fol- 
low quietly.  When  Iron  Hair  travels  he  wants  no 
Fifty  Mile  gang  on  his  trail.  Say  nothing,  but  keep 
me  in  sight.  Heyah,  mush,  mush!" 

Out  of  the  gully  he  led  the  way  swiftly  and  silently 
to  the  open  country  beyond  the  settlement.  There 
he  circled  in  a  confusing  way,  bearing  northward. 
After  an  hour  he  began  circling  again,  doubling  on  his 
trail  to  make  it  hard  for  any  one  to  follow,  but  finally 
Reivers  knew  by  the  stars  that  the  course  lay  to  the 
south.  Another  series  of  false  twists  in  the  trail,  then 
Moir  struck  out  in  determined  fashion  on  a  straight 
course,  east  and  a  trifle  south  from  Fifty  Mile. 

Reivers,  silently  guiding  his  dogs  in  the  tracks  made 
by  Moir,  breathed  hard  as  he  read  the  stars.  By  the 
pace  that  Moir  was  setting  it  seemed  certain  that 
he  now  was  making  for  his  camp  in  a  direct  line.  But 
if  so,  if  this  trail  were  held,  it  would  take  them  back 
toward  the  Dead  Lands,  straight  into  the  country  that 
was  Duncan  MacGregor's  trapping-ground.  Could  the 
mine  be  in  that  region.  If  so,  how  could  it  have  escaped 
the  notice  of  the  old  trapper? 

It  was  well  past  midnight  when  Reivers  saw  the 
team  ahead  disappear  in  a  depression  in  the  ground 


The  Test  of  the  ^Bottle         263 

and  heard  Moir's  voice  loudly  calling  a  halt.  By  the 
time  Reivers  came  up  with  his  two  sledges  Moir  had 
unhitched  his  dogs  on  the  flat  of  a  frozen  river-bed 
and  was  hurriedly  dragging  a  bottle  from  one  of  the 
cases  on  his  sledge. 

"Hell's  fire,  old  son ;  unhook  and  camp.  The  liquor's 
dying  in  me,  and  I  had  just  begun  to  feel  good." 

"I  was  wondering,"  gasped  Reivers  in  assumed  ex- 
haustion. "I  was  wondering  how  much  farther  you 
were  going  before  you  opened  a  bottle." 

"Have  your  squaws  get  out  tuh  grub,"  ordered 
Moir,  jamming  down  the  cork.  "And  now  you  'n'  me, 
wilt  see  who  drinks  t'other  off  his  feet." 

For  reply  Reivers  promptly  gulped  down  a  drink 
that  would  have  strangled  most  men. 

"Good  enough,"  admitted  Moir.  "Here's  better, 
though."  And  he  instantly  improved  on  Reivers' 
record. 

The  first  bottle  was  soon  emptied — a  quart  of  raw, 
fiery  hooch — and  a  second  instantly  broached. 

The  food  was  forgotten  by  Moir;  the  women  were 
forgotten.  His  primitive  mind  was  obsessed  with  the 
idea  of  pouring  more  burning  poison  down  his  throat 
than  this  broken-down  waster  who  dared  to  drink 
up  to  him.  Bolt  upright  he  sat,  laughing  and  sing- 
ing, never  taking  his  eyes  off  Reivers,  while  drink 
after  drink  disappeared  down  their  throats. 

No  movement  of  Reivers  escaped  Moir's  vigilant 
watch  for  signs  of  weakness.  As  Reivers  gave  no 
apparent  sign  of  toppling  over  he  grew  enraged. 

"Hell's  fire!  Wilt  sit  here  till  daylight  if  thou  wilt," 
he  roared.  "Drink  on  there !  'Tis  thy  turn." 

Tillie  and  Neopa  got  food  ready  from  the  grub-bag 
and  sat  waiting  patiently;  the  dogs  ceased  moving, 
bedded  down  in  the  snow  and  went  to  sleep;  and  still 
the  contest  went  on. 


264  The  Snow-Burner 

Finally  Reivers  discerned  the  slight  thickening  of 
speech  and  the  glassy  stare  in  his  opponent's  eyes 
that  he  had  been  waiting  for.  Then,  and  not  until 
then,  did  he  begin  to  betray  apparent  signs  of  failing. 

"Sh-sh-shtrong  liquor,  m-m-mishter,"  he  stuttered. 
"Awful  sh-sh-shtrong  liquor." 

Moir  cackled  in  drunken  triumph. 

"  'Tish  bear's  milk,  old  shon.  'Tish  made  for  men. 
Drink, ye,  drink  again !" 

Reivers  drank,  drank  longer  and  heavier  than  he 
had  yet  done. 

"There;  take  the  mate  of  that,  mister,  and  you'll 
know  you  been  drinking,"  he  stammered. 

Moir's  throat  by  this  time  had  been  burned  too  raw 
to  taste,  and  his  sight  was  too  dulled  to  measure  quan- 
tities. He  tipped  the  bottle  up  and  drained  it.  The 
dose  would  have  killed  a  normal  man.  To  Shanty 
Moir  it  brought  only  an  inclination  to  slumber.  His 
head  fell  forward  on  his  breast. 

With  a  thick-tongued  snarl  he  sat  up  straight  and 
looked  at  Reivers.  Reivers  hiccoughed,  swayed  in 
his  seat,  and  collapsed  with  a  drunken  clatter. 

Moir  smiled.  He  winked  in  unobserved  triumph. 
Then  the  superhuman  strength  with  which  he  had 
fought  off  the  effects  of  the  liquor  snapped  like  a 
broken  wire,  and  he  pitched  forward  on  his  face  into 
the  snow. 


CHAPTER  XXXVI 

THE  SNOW-BURNER   BEGINS   TO  WEAKEN 

REIVERS  stood  up,  looked  down  at  his  fallen  rival 
and  yawned. 

"Body,"  he  mused,  "but  for  a  hard  head,  there  lies 
you." 

He  bent  cautiously  over  Moir.  The  Welshman  lay 
with  his  face  half  buried  in  the  crusted  snow,  his 
lungs  pumping  like  huge  bellows,  and  the  snow  flying 
in  gusts  from  around  his  nostrils  at  every  expulsion  of 
breath.  Reivers  laid  a  gentle  hand  on  his  shoulder. 
There  was  no  movement. 

"Hey,  mister,"  he  called. 

The  undisturbed  breathing  showed  that  the  words 
had  not  penetrated  to  the  clouded  consciousness.  De- 
liberately Reivers  turned  the  big  man  over  on  his  back. 
Moir  lay  as  stiff  and  dead  as  a  log.  With  swift,  deft 
hands  Reivers  searched  him  to  the  skin,  looking  for  a 
trail-map,  a  mark  or  a  sign  of  any  kind  that  might 
indicate  the  location  of  Moir's  mine.  He  was  not 
greatly  disappointed  when  he  failed  to  find  anything 
of  the  sort;  he  had  hardly  expected  that  an  experi- 
enced pirate  like  Shanty  Moir  would  travel  with  his 
secrets  on  his  person. 

Next  he  considered  the  dogs.  It  was  barely  pos- 
sible that  the  dogs  knew  the  way  to  the  mine.  If 
they  had  travelled  the  way  before,  they  would  know 
when  they  were  on  the  home-trail,  and  if  so  they 
would  travel  thither  if  given  their  heads,  even  though 

265 


266  The  Snow-Burner 

their  master  lay  helplessly  bound  on  the  sledge.  Then 
at  the  mine,  a  sudden  surprise,  and  probably  a  sec- 
ond of  sharp  work  with  the  rifle  on  Moir's  hench- 
men. 

Reivers  stepped  eagerly  over  to  where  Moir's  team 
lay  sleeping.  He  swore  softly  when  he  saw  them. 
Moir  had  traded  his  tired  team  for  a  fresh  outfit 
at  Fifty  Mile,  and  the  new  dogs  were  as  strange  to 
this  trail  as  Reivers  himself. 

His  triumph  over  Moir  in  the  drinking  bout  had 
been  in  vain.  There  was  no  march  to  be  stolen,  even 
with  Moir  lying  helpless  on  the  snow.  He  would  have 
to  go  through  with  it  as  he  had  planned.  Tillie  and 
Neopa  must  be  the  means  by  which  he  would  obtain 
his  ends. 

He  suddenly  looked  over  to  the  sledge  where  the 
two  women  were  patiently  waiting  with  the  food 
they  had  prepared.  Tillie,  squat  and  stolid,  was  sit- 
ting as  impassive  and  content  as  a  bronze  figure  at  the 
door  of  the  shelter  tepee  which  she  had  erected,  but 
Neopa  sat  bowed  over  on  the  end  of  the  sledge,  her 
head  on  her  folded  arms,  her  slim  figure  shaking  with 
silent  sobs. 

"Put  back  the  food  and  go  to  your  blankets,"  he 
commanded  harshly.  "Stop  that  whining,  girl,  or 
you  will  have  something  to  whine  for." 

He  waited  until  his  orders  had  been  obeyed  and  the 
women  were  in  the  tepee.  Then  he  unrolled  his  blan- 
ket and  lay  down  on  the  snow. 

He  did  not  sleep.  He  knew  that  he  would  not. 
For  all  through  the  day,  during  his  dealing  with  Moir, 
on  the  night  trail  under  the  clean  stars,  his  mind  had 
been  fighting  to  shut  out  a  picture  that  persisted  in 
running  before  his  eyes.  Now,  alone  in  the  star-lit 
night,  with  nothing  to  occupy  him,  the  picture  rushed 
into  being,  vivid  and  living.  He  could  not  shut  it 


Begins  to  Weaken  267 

out.  He  could  not  escape  it.  It  was  the  picture  of 
Hattie  MacGregor  as  he  had  seen  her  that  morning 
with  the  pain  and  scorn  upon  her  young,  fine  face. 
Her  voice  rang  in  his  ears,  the  burning  words  as  clear 
as  if  she  stood  by  his  side: 

"I  knew  it  was  not  a  man.  Living  on  your  squaws ! 
And  you  dared  to  talk  to  me — a  decent  woman!" 

Reivers  cursed  and  lay  looking  straight  up  at  the 
white  stars.  From  the  tepee  there  came  a  sound  that 
brought  him  up  sitting.  He  listened,  amazed  and 
puzzled.  It  was  Neopa  sobbing  because  she  had  been 
torn  from  her  young  lover,  Nawa,  and  in  the  plaint 
of  her  pain-racked  tones  there  was  something  which 
recalled  with  accursed  clearness  the  rich  voice  of  Hat- 
tie  MacGregor. 

It  was  probably  an  hour  after  he  had  lain  down  that 
Reivers  rose  up  and  quietly  hooked  his  strongest  dogs 
to  a  sledge. 

"Tillie !  Neopa !  Come  out !"  he  whispered,  throw- 
ing open  the  flap  of  the  little  tepee. 

Neopa  came,  wet- faced  and  haggard,  her  wide-open 
eyes  showing  plainly  that  there  had  been  no  sleep 
for  her  that  night.  Tillie  was  rubbing  her  eyes  sleep- 
ily, protesting  against  being  wakened  from  comfort- 
able slumber. 

Reivers  pointed  northward  up  the  river  bed. 

"Up  there,  on  this  river,  one  day's  march  away,  is 
the  camp  of  your  people,  which  we  came  from,"  he 
whispered.  "Do  you  both  take  this  team  and  drive 
rapidly  thither.  Hold  to  the  river-bed  and  keep  away 
from  the  black  spots  where  the  water  shows  through 
the  snow.  Do  not  stop  to  rest  or  feed.  You  should 
reach  your  people  in  the  middle  of  the  afternoon. 
Then  do  you  give  Nawa  this  rifle.  Tell  him  to  shoot 
any  white  man  who  comes  after  you.  Now  go 
swiftly." 


268  The  Snow-Burner 

Neopa  looked  at  him  with  her  fawn-like  eyes  large 
with  incredibility  and  hope. 

"Snow-Burner!  Do  you  let  me  go  back  to  Nawa?" 
she  whispered. 

"Get  on  the  sledge,"  he  commanded.  "Do  as  I've 
told  you,  or  you'll  hear  from  me." 

As  emotion  had  all  but  paralysed  the  young  girl 
he  forced  her  to  a  seat  on  the  sledge  and  thrust  the 
whip  into  her  hand,  then  turned  to  Tillie.  Tillie  was 
making  no  move  to  approach  the  sledge. 

"Did  you  hear  what  I  said?"  he  demanded. 

Tillie  smiled  strangely. 

"Has  the  Snow-Burner  become  afraid  of  Iron 
Hair?"  she  asked. 

"So  little  afraid  that  I  no  longer  need  you  to  help 
me  in  this  matter,"  retorted  Reivers. 

The  shrewd  squaw  shook  her  head. 

"How  will  the  Snow-Burner  find  Iron  Hair's  gold 
now?  Iron  Hair  will  not  take  the  Snow-Burner  to 
his  camp  alone.  It  is  not  the  Snow-Burner  that  Iron 
Hair  wants.  It  is  a  woman.  Has  the  Snow-Burner 
given  up  the  fight  to  get  the  gold  which  he  wants 
so  much?  He  knows  he  can  not  reach  Iron  Hair's 
camp — alone." 

"Then  I  will  not  reach  it  at  all.    Get  on  the  sledge." 

Tillie  smiled  but  did  not  move. 

"The  Snow-Burner  at  last  has  become  like  other 
white  men.  He  wishes  to  do  what  is  right."  She 
pointed  at  the  snoring  Moir.  "He  would  not  be  so 
weak." 

While  Reivers  looked  at  her  in  amazement  the 
squaw  stepped  forward,  straightened  out  the  dogs, 
kicked  them  viciously  and  sent  the  sledge,  bearing 
Neopa  alone,  flying  up  the  river-bed. 

"To  send  Neopa  back  to  Nawa  is  well  and  good," 
she  said,  returning  to  Reivers.  "She  would  weep  for 


Begins  to  Weaken  269 

Nawa  all  day  and  night,  and  would  grow  sick  and  die 
on  our  hands.  But  there  is  no  Nawa  waiting  for 
Tillie.  Tillie  is  tired  of  her  tepee  with  no  man  in  it. 
Iron  Hair  has  smiled  upon  me,  Snow-Burner.  I  will 
smile  upon  him.  His  smile  will  answer  mine  as  the 
dry  pine  lights  up  when  the  match  is  touched  to  it.  I 
have  looked  in  his  eyes  and  know.  He  will  forget 
Neopa.  Tillie  will  help  the  Snow-Burner  rob  Iron 
Hair.  Is  it  well?" 

"Get  back  to  your  blankets,"  commanded  Reivers. 
"If  you  wish  it,  we  will  let  it  be  so.  Sleep  long.  Do 
not  stir  until  you  hear  that  Iron  Hair  has  awakened." 


CHAPTER  XXXVII 

INTO  THE  JAWS  OF  THE  BEAR 

SHANTY  MOIR  stirred  when  the  first  rays  of  the 
morning1  sun,  glancing  off  the  snow,  struck  his 
eyes.  He  rose  like  a  musk-ox  lifting  itself  from  its 
snow  wallow,  with  mighty  heaves  and  grunts,  and 
looked  around. 

He  was  blear-eyed  and  puffed  of  face,  his  throat 
was  raw  and  burning  from  the  unbelievable  amount 
of  hooch  he  had  swallowed  in  the  night,  but  his  abnor- 
mal organisation  had  thrown  off  the  effects  of  the 
alcohol  and  he  was  cold  sober.  His  first  move  was  to 
cool  his  throat  with  handfuls  of  snow,  his  second  to 
step  over  and  regard  the  apparently  paralysed  Reivers 
with  a  look  of  mingled  triumph  and  contempt. 

"Eh,  old  sonny!  Would  a  drinked  with  Shanty 
Moir,  wouldst  'ee?"  he  chuckled.  "Happen  thee  got 
thy  old  soak's  skin  filled  to  overflow  that  time.  Get 
up,  you  waster !"  he  commanded,  stirring  the  prostrate 
form  with  a  heavy  foot.  "Up  with  you!" 

Reivers  did  not  stir,  but  he  put  that  touch  of  the 
foot  down  as  something  extra  that  Moir  would  have 
to  pay  for.  He  was  apparently  lying  steeped  in  the 
depths  of  drunken  slumber,  and  he  wished  to  drive 
the  impression  firmly  into  Shanty  Moir's  mind  that  he 
had  been  dead  to  the  world  all  night.  Hence  he  did 
not  interrupt  his  snoring  as  Moir's  foot  touched  him. 

"Laid  out  stiff!"  laughed  Moir. 

He  reached  down,  lifted  Reivers'  head  from  the 
370 


.Into  the  Jaws  of  the  Bear   271 

snow  and  let  it  fall  heavily.  Still  Reivers  made  no 
sign  of  awakening.  Moir  looked  at  him  for  a  moment, 
then  slily  tiptoed  toward  the  shelter  tepee  and  threw 
up  the  flap.  The  next  instant  a  bellow  of  rage  shat- 
tered the  morning  quiet.  Like  a  maddened  bear  Moir 
was  back  at  Reivers,  cuffing,  kicking,  cursing,  com- 
manding that  he  wake  up. 

Reivers  awoke  only  in  degree.  Not  until  Moir 
had  opened  a  new  bottle  of  hooch  and  poured  a  drink 
down  his  throat  did  he  essay  to  sit  up  and  open  his 
eyes. 

"Wha'  smatter?  Can't  a  mari  shleep?"  he  protested. 
"Wha'  smatter  with  you?" 

"Matter!"  bellowed  Moir.  "Plenty  of  matter,  you 
old  waster.  Where's  the  young  lass,  eh  ?  Where's  the 
girl  gone?  Look  in  the  tepee  and  see  what's  the  mat- 
ter. You  told  me  you  had  the  trulls  buffaloed.  What's 
become  of  the  young  girl?" 

It  was  some  time  before  Reivers  appeared  to  un- 
derstand. Finally  he  stumbled  to  his  feet  and  started 
toward  the  tent,  met  Tillie  as  she  stepped  out  rub- 
bing her  eyes,  and  recoiled  drunkenly. 

"Neopa?  Where  is  she?"  muttered  Tillie.  "She 
slept  near  the  door.  Now  she  is  gone." 

She  had  let  her  shiny  black  hair  fall  loosely  over 
her  shoulders  and  now  she  threw  it  back,  looked 
straight  at  Moir  and  smiled. 

"Neopa  gone?"  demanded  Reivers  thickly.  "She 
can't  be;  she  wouldn't  dare." 

"Dare,  you  fool?  Look  there."  Moir  pointed  to 
the  hollows  where  the  missing  dog  team  had  lain  and 
to  the  tracks  that  ran  straight  and  true  up  the  river 
bed.  "She's  run  away.  Been  gone  half  a  night. 
Well,  what  have  you  got  to  say?" 

Reivers  turned  with  a  scowl  on  Tillie,  but  Tillie 
was  comfortably  plaiting  her  thick  hair. 


272  The  Snow-Burner 

"Neopa  has  run  away — back  to  our  people,"  she 
said  with  a  smile,  as  she  turned  back  into  the  tepee. 
"Tillie  does  not  run  away,"  she  added  as  she  dis- 
appeared. 

Moir  sat  down  on  a  sledge  and  cursed  Reivers  stead- 
ily for  five  minutes,  but  at  every  few  words  his  eyes 
would  stray  back  to  the  tepee  which  hid  Tillie. 

"We'll  go  after  her,"  said  Reivers.  "We'll  bring 
her  back." 

"Go  after  her!"  snorted  Moir.  "She  has  half  a 
night's  start  on  us.  She'll  reach  her  people  before 
we  could  get  her.  Do  you  think  I  want  half  the 
country  following  my  trail." 

"I'll  go  after  her  alone  then,"  insisted  Reivers. 

"Will  you?"  Moir's  eyes  narrowed  to  slits.  "I 
think  not.  Let  me  tell  thee  something,  old  son :  he 
who  goes  this  far  on  the  home  trail  with  Shanty  Moir 
goes  all  the  way.  Understand  ?  You'll  come  with  me 
or  you'll  be  wolf -meat  out  here  on  the  snow.  No; 
there'll  be  no  following  of  that  kid.  She's  gone.  The 
other  one's  here.  There  is  no  telling  what  tale  the 
kid  will  spin  when  she  meets  people,  or  who  will  be 
down  here  looking  for  our  trail.  Therefore  we  are 
going  to  travel  and  travel  quick.  Have  the  squaw 
get  food  in  a  hurry.  Get  your  dogs  together.  We'll 
be  on  the  trail  in  half  an  hour." 

Moir  was  masterful  and  dominant  now.  It  was 
evident  that  he  was  more  worried  over  the  possibility 
of  some  one  hearing  of  his  whereabouts  through 
Neopa  than  he  was  over  the  girl's  escape.  He  gave 
Reivers  a  second  drink  of  liquor,  since  he  seemed  to 
need  it  to  fully  awaken  him,  and  set  about  making 
ready  for  the  trail. 

"Eat  plenty,"  he  commanded,  when  Tilly  served 
the  cold  meat  and  tea.  "The  next  meal  you  have  will 
be  about  sundown." 


Into  the  Jaws  of  the  Bear   273 

He  tore  down  the  tepee,  packed  the  sledges  and  had 
the  outfit  ready  for  the  start  in  an  amazingly  short 
while. 

"Now,  old  son,"  he  said  quietly,  pointing  to  the  rifle 
that  lay  uncovered  on  top  of  his  sledge,  "do  'ee  take 
good  look  at  her.  She's  a  good  old  Betsy  and  I've 
knocked  o'er  smaller  men  than  you  at  the  half  mile. 
Do  you  keep  well  up  with  me  on  the  trail  I'll  be  mak- 
ing this  day  and  there'll  be  no  trouble.  Try  any  tricks 
and  the  wolves  will  have  whiskey-soaked  meat  to  feed 
on.  There's  no  turning  back  now.  He  who  conies 
this  far  with  Shanty  Moir  goes  all  the  way." 

"You  can't  lose  me,  mister,"  stammered  Reivers. 
"I  want  that  money  for  hooch  for  next  Summer  like 
you  promised." 

"Wilt  get  more  than  you  bargained  for,  old  son," 
laughed  Moir.  "Yes,  more  than  you  ever  dreamed 
of.  Hi-yah!  Buck!  Bugle!  Mush;  mush  up!" 

Moir  made  no  pretence  at  hiding  his  trail  when 
he  started  this  time.  Apparently  he  reasoned  that 
the  damage  was  done.  If  any  one  wished  to  trail 
him  after  hearing  Neopa's  story  they  would  have  no 
trouble  in  finding  his  tracks,  despite  any  subterfuge 
he  might  attempt.  He  went  straight  forward,  as  a 
man  who  has  nothing  to  fear  if  he  can  but  reach  his 
fastness,  and  Reivers'  wonderment  grew  as  the  trail 
held  straight  toward  the  rising  sun. 

The  course  was  parallel  to  the  one  he  had  taken 
westward  from  MacGregor's  cabin  to  Tillie's  encamp- 
ment. If  it  held  on  as  it  was  going  it  would  lead 
straight  into  the  heart  of  the  Dead  Lands,  and  within 
half  a  day's  travel  of  the  MacGregor  home.  Was 
it  possible  that  the  mine  lay  in  the  Dead  Lands  ?  Dun- 
can MacGregor  made  this  territory  his  trapping- 
ground.  How  could  his  brother's  find  have  escaped 
his  trained  outdoor  eyes? 


274  The  Snow-Burner 

The  next  instant  Reivers  was  cursing  himself  for 
a  blind  fool.  There  was  no  trapping  in  the  Dead 
Lands.  There  was  no  feed  there.  Except  for  a  stray 
wolf -cave,  fur-bearing  beasts  would  shun  those  bar- 
ren rocks  as  a  desert,  and  Duncan  MacGregor,  being  a 
knowing  trapper,  might  trap  around  it  twenty  years 
without  venturing  through  after  a  first  fruitless  search 
for  signs. 

The  mine  was  in  the  Dead  Lands,  of  course.  It 
was  as  safely  hidden  there  as  if  within  the  bowels 
of  the  earth.  And  he,  Reivers,  had  probably  been 
within  shooting  distance  of  it  during  his  two  days' 
wandering  in  that  district.  The  man  whom  he  had 
killed  with  the  rock  had  undoubtedly  been  hurrying 
with  Hattie  MacGregor  straight  to  his  chief's  fast- 
ness. 

It  was  noon  when  the  ragged  ground  on  the  horizon- 
head  told  Reivers  that  his  surmises  were  correct  and 
that  they  were  hurrying  straight  for  the  Dead  Lands. 
An  hour  of  travel  and  the  jagged  formation  of  the 
rock  country  was  plainly  distinguishable  a  little  over 
a  mile  ahead.  Then  Moir  for  the  first  time  that  day 
called  a  halt.  When  Reivers  caught  up  with  him 
he  saw  that  Moir  held  in  each  hand  a  small  pouch-like 
contrivance  of  buckskin,  pierced  near  the  middle  with 
tiny  holes  and  equipped  with  draw-strings  at  the 
bottom. 

"Come  here,  lass,"  he  beckoned  to  Tillie.  "Must 
hide  that  smiling  mouth  of  thine  for  the  present." 

With  a  laugh  he  threw  the  pouch  over  the  squaw's 
head,  pulled  the  bottom  tightly  around  her  neck,  and 
tied  the  strings  securely. 

"The  same  with  thee,  old  son,"  he  said,  and  treated 
Reivers  in  the  same  summary  manner.  "You  see,  I  do 
not  wish  to  have  to  put  you  away,"  he  explained 
genially,  "and  that  I  would  do  if  by  chance  thy  eyes 


Into  the  Jaws  of  the  Bear      275 

should  see  the  way  to  Shanty  Moir's  mine.  One  or 
two  men  have  been  unlucky  enough  to  see  it.  They 
will  never  be  able  to  tell  the  tale."  He  skilfully 
searched  the  pair  for  hidden  weapons,  but  Reivers  had 
expected  this  and  carried  not  so  much  as  a  knife.  "All 
right.  Keep  in  my  steps,  old  son.  Presently  thou'll 
get  wet.  Do  not  fear.  Wilt  not  let  'ee  come  to  harm. 
Neither  thee  nor  tuh  squaw.  I  have  use  for  you 
both.  Come  now;  I'll  go  slow." 

The  buckskin  pouch  pierced  only  by  the  tiny  air- 
holes, masked  Reivers'  eyes  in  a  fashion  that  pre- 
cluded any  possible  chance  of  sight.  He  knew  in- 
stinctively that  Moir  was  turning.  First  the  turn  was 
to  the  left.  Then  back  to  the  right.  Then  in  a  circle, 
and  after  that  straight  ahead. 

Presently  the  feel  of  a  sharp  rock  underfoot  told 
him  that  they  had  entered  the  Dead  Lands.  He  stum- 
bled purposely  to  one  side  of  the  trail  and  bumped 
squarely  against  a  solid  wall  of  stone.  Next  he  tried 
it  on  the  opposite  side  with  the  same  result.  Moir 
was  leading  the  way  through  a  narrow  defile  in  the 
rocks. 

Suddenly  there  came  to  Reivers'  ears  the  sound  of 
running  water,  the  lazy  murmur  of  a  small  brook. 
Almost  at  the  same  instant  came  the  splash  of  Moir 
and  his  dogs  going  into  the  stream  and  Moir's 
laughing : 

"Wilt  get  a  little  wet  here,  old  son.  But  follow 
on." 

Fumbling  with  his  feet  Reivers  found  the  stream 
and  stepped  in.  To  his  surprise  the  water  was  warm. 
Warm  water?  Where  had  he  seen  warm  water  re- 
cently in  this  country  ?  His  thoughts  leaped  back  with 
a  snap.  There  was  only  one  open  stream  to  be  found 
thereabouts,  and  that  was  the  brook  that  came  from 


276 


The  Snow-Burner 


the  warm  springs  by  which  he  had  camped  on  hii  way 
to  Tillie's. 

"Warm  water!"  laughed  Moir.  "Wilt  find  all  snug 
in  my  camp.  Aye,  as  snug  as  in  a  well-kept  jail." 

The  stream  was  knee-deep,  and  by  the  pressure  of 
the  water  against  the  back  of  his  legs  Reivers  knew 
that  they  were  going  down-stream.  Presently  Moir 
spoke  again. 

"Now,  if  you  value  the  tops  of  your  heads,  do  you 
duck  as  low  as  you  can.  Duck  now,  quick;  and  do 
you  keep  that  position  till  I  tell  you  to  straighten  up." 

Reivers  and  Tillie  ducked  obediently.  Suddenly  the 
tiny  light  that  had  come  through  the  air-holes  of 
their  masks  was  shut  out.  The  darkness  was  com- 
plete. Reivers  thrust  his  hand  above  his  bowed  head 
and  came  in  contact  with  cold,  clammy  rock.  No 
wonder  it  had  taken  MacGregor  and  Moir  two  years 
to  find  the  mine,  since  the  way  to  it  lay  by  a  sub- 
terranean river! 

The  light  reappeared,  but  it  was  not  the  sunny  light 
that  had  come  through  the  air-holes  before  they  had 
entered  the  river  tunnel.  It  was  grey  and  dead,  as 
the  light  in  a  room  where  the  sunshine  does  not  enter. 

"Now  you  can^lift  your  heads,"  laughed  Moir. 
"Come  to  the  right.  Up  the  bank.  Here  we  are." 

He  jerked  Reivers  out  of  the  water  roughly,  and 
roughly  pulled  the  sack  from  his  head.  Reivers 
blinked  as  the  light  struck  his  eyes.  Moir  treated 
him  to  a  generous  kick. 

"Welcome,"  he  hissed  menacingly.  "Welcome  to 
the  camp  of  Shanty  Moir." 


CHAPTER  XXXVIII 

MACGREGOR    ROY 

REIVERS'  first  impression  was  that  he  was  stand- 
ing in  a  gigantic  stockade.     The  second  that  he 
was  on  the  floor  of  a  great  quarry-pit.     Then,  when 
the  situation  grew  clear  to  him,  he  stood  dum founded. 

The  camp  of  Shanty  Moir  lay  in  what  would  have 
been  a  solid  rock  cave  but  for  the  lack  of  a  roof. 
It  was  an  irregular  hollow  in  the  strange  formation 
of  the  Dead  Lands,  perhaps  fifty  yards  long  and  thirty 
yards  wide  at  its  greatest  breadth.  The  hollow  was 
surrounded  completely  by  ragged  stone  walls  about 
fifty  feed  in  height.  These  walls  slanted  inward  to 
a  startling  degree.  Thus  while  the  floor  of  the  strange 
spot  was  thirty  yards  wide,  the  opening  above,  through 
which  showed  the  far-away  sky,  could  scarcely  have 
been  more  than  half  that  width.  The  brook  ran 
through  the  middle  of  the  chasm,  entering  the  upper 
end  by  a  tunnel  five  feet  in  height  and  disappearing  in 
the  solid  wall  of  rock  at  the  lower  end  by  a  similar 
opening. 

On  each  side  of  the  narrow  stream,  and  running 
back  to  the  rock  walls,  was  a  floor  of  smooth  river- 
sand.  Beneath  an  overhanging  ledge  on  the  side  where 
Reivers  stood  were  the  rude  skin  fronts  of  two  dug- 
outs. A  tin  smoke-stack  protruded  from  the  larger 
of  the  two  habitations;  the  other,  which  was  high 
enough  only  to  admit  a  man  stooping  far  over,  was 
merely  a  flap  of  hide  hanging  down  from  the  rock. 

277 


278 


The  Snow-Burner 


On  the  beach  at  the  other  side  of  the  creek  a  fire 
burned  beneath  a  great  iron  pan,  the  wood  smoke  fill- 
ing the  chasm  with  its  pungent  odour.  Behind  the  fire 
a  series  of  tunnels  ran  down  in  the  sand  under  the 
cliffs.  From  the  tunnel  immediately  behind  the  fire 
came  a  thin  spiral  of  sluggish  smoke,  and  Reivers 
knew  that  this  tunnel  was  being  worked  and  that  the 
fire  was  being  used  to  thaw  the  frozen  earth. 

A  man  who  resembled  Moir  on  a  small  scale  was 
at  work  at  the  thawing-pan,  breaking  the  hard  earth 
with  his  fingers  and  tossing  it  into  a  washing-pan 
at  his  side.  He  stood  now  with  a  chunk  of  frozen  sand 
in  his  hand,  and  at  sight  of  Reivers  and  Tillie  he 
tossed  the  sand  recklessly  into  the  air  and  whooped. 

"Ha!  Hast  done  well  this  time,  Shanty,"  he  cried 
in  an  accent  similar  to  theirs.  "Hast  made  tuh  life 
endurable.  A  new  horse  for  me  and  a  woman  for 
'ee.  'Tis  high  time.  Since  Blacky  went  off  and  did 
not  come  back,  and  tuh  two  Indians  tried  to  flee,  we've 
had  but  one  horse  to  do  with.  Now  wilt  have  two. 
Wilt  clean  up  in  a  hurry  now,  and  live  in  tuh  mean- 
while." 

Shanty  Moir  laughed  harshly. 

"How  works  tuh  old  Scot  jackass  to-day?"  he 
called. 

The  man  across  the  creek  shook  his  head. 

"He's  never  tuh  horse  he  was  when  we  first  put 
him  in  harness,"  he  chuckled.  "Fell  twice  in  his 
tracks  to-day,  he  did,  and  lay  there  till  Joey  gave  him 
an  inch  of  tuh  prod.  Has  been  a  good  beastie,  the 
Scot  has,  Shanty,  but  'tis  in  my  mind  tuh  climate  does 
not  'gree  with  him.  Scarce  able  to  pull  his  load.  In 
tuh  mines  at  home  we  knocked  such  worn  beasties  in 
the  head  and  sent  them  up  o'  tuh  pit." 

Moir  laughed  again. 

"Hast  a  quaint  way  o'  putting  things,  Tammy,"  he 


MacGregor  Roy  279 

said.  "But  I  mind  when  ponies  were  scarce  we  used 
them  till  they  crawled  their  knees  raw.  'Tis  plenty 
o'  time  to  knock  old  horse-flesh  in  tuh  head  when  tuh 
job's  done." 

They  laughed  together.  Evidently  this  was  a  well- 
liked  camp  joke. 

"  'Tis  a  well-coupled  animal  'ee  have  there,  Shanty," 
said  the  humourist  across  the  water,  with  a  jerk  of 
the  head  at  Reivers.  "Big  in  tuh  bone  and  solid 
around  tuh  withers.  Yon  squaw  is  a  solid  piece,  too. 
Happen  they're  broke  to  pull  double?" 

"Unbroke  stock,  Tammy,"  drawled  Moir  leisurely. 
"Gentleman,  squaw-man,  waster.  But  breaking  stock's 
our  specialty,  eh,  Tammy?" 

A  muffled  shout  floated  up  from  the  mouth  of  the 
smoking  pit  before  Tammy  could  reply.  Instantly 
there  followed  a  dull  moan  of  pain :  Moir  and  Tommy 
laughed  knowingly. 

"Here  comes  sample  of  our  work,"  said  Tammy, 
nodding  toward  the  tunnel.  "Poor  Joey!  Has  to 
use  tuh  prod  to  start  him  with  each  load  now." 

A  grating,  shuffling  sound  now  came  from  the  mouth 
of  the  tunnel.  Following  it  appeared  the  head  of  a 
man.  And  Reivers  needed  only  one  glance  at  the 
emaciated  countenance  to  know  that  he  was  looking 
upon  the  father  of  Hattie  MacGregor. 

"Giddap,  Scotch  jackass!"  roared  Moir  in  great 
good  humour.  "Pull  it  out  o'  there.  That's  tuh 
horse.  Pull !" 

The  man  came  painfully,  an  inch  at  a  time,  out 
of  the  pit,  and  looked  across  the  creek  at  Shanty  Moir. 
Behind  him  there  dragged  a  rough  wooden  sledge 
loaded  with  lumps  of  earth.  The  man  was  hitched 
to  this  load  by  a  harness  of  straps  that  held  his  arms 
helpless  against  his  sides.  No  strait-jacket  ever  held 
its  victim  more  utterly  helpless  than  the  contrivance 


280  The  Snow-Burner 

which  now  held  James  MacGregor  in  toils  as  a  beast 
of  burden.  A  contrivance  of  straps  about  the  ankle* 
held  his  legs  close  together. 

So  short  were  the  traces  by  which  the  sledge  was 
drawn  that  MacGregor  could  not  have  stood  upright 
without  having  lifted  the  heavy  load  a  foot  or  more 
from  the  ground.  He  made  no  attempt  to  stand  so, 
but  hung  half-bowed  against  the  harness,  his  eyes 
gleaming  through  the  matted  red  hair  over  his  brows 
straight  at  Shanty  Moir. 

It  was  the  eyes  that  drew  and  held  Reivers'  atten- 
tion to  the  face,  rather  than  to  the  man's  terrible 
situation.  James  MacGregor,  helpless  beast  of  bur- 
den to  his  tormentors  that  he  was,  was  not  beaten. 
The  same  clean-cut  nose,  mouth  and  chin  that  Reivers 
remembered  so  well  in  the  daughter  were  apparent 
in  the  father's  pain-marked  face.  The  eyes  gleamed 
defiance.  And  they  were  wide  and  grey,  Reivers  saw, 
the  same  as  the  eyes  that  haunted  him  in  memory's 
pictures  of  the  girl  who  had  not  feared  his  glance. 

"Shanty  Moir,"  spoke  MacGregor  in  a  voice  weak 
but  firm,  "when  the  devil  made  you  he  cursed  his  own 
work.  He  cursed  you  as  a  misbegotten  thing  not  fit 
for  hell.  The  gut-eating  wolverine  is  a  brave  beast 
compared  to  you.  Skunks  would  run  from  your  com- 
pany. You  think  you  have  done  big  work.  You  fool  I 
You  cannot  rob  me  of  what  belongs  to  me  and  mine ; 
you  cannot  kill  me.  As  sure  as  there  is  a  God  in 
Heaven,  He  will  let  me  or  mine  kill  you  with  bare 
hands." 

Moir  and  his  man  laughed  in  weary  fashion,  as  if 
this  speech  were  old  to  them,  and  Reivers  was  amazed 
at  an  impulse  within  him  to  throw  himself  at  Shanty 
Moir's  throat.  He  joined  foolishly  in  the  laughter 
to  hide  his  confusion.  What  had  he  to  do  with  such 
impulses?  What  business  had  he  having  any  feel- 


MacGregor  Roy  281 

ing  for  the  poor  enslaved  man  before  him?  He  had 
come  to  Moir's  camp  for  one  purpose :  to  get  the  gold 
mined  there,  to  get  a  new  start  in  life.  Was  it  pos- 
sible that  he  was  growing  weak  enough  to  experience 
the  feeling  of  pity,  the  impulse  to  help  the  helpless? 
Nonsense!  He  laughed  loudly.  His  plan  was  one  in 
which  silly  impulses  of  this  nature  had  no  part,  and 
he  would  go  through  with  it  to  the  end. 

"Well  brayed,  Scots  jackass,"  said  the  man  at  the 
thawing-pan  casually.  "Now  pull  tuh  load  over  here. 
Giddap-pull!" 

MacGregor  leaned  weakly  against  the  harness,  but 
the  sledge  had  lodged  and  his  depleted  strength  was 
insufficient  to  budge  it. 

"Oh  ho !  Getting  lazy,  eh  ?"  came  from  the  tunnel, 
and  a  thin-faced  man  came  out,  a  short  stick  with  a 
sharp  brad  in  his  hands.  "Want  help,  eh?  Well, 
here  'tis,"  he  chuckled,  and  drove  the  brad  into  Mac- 
Gregor's  leg. 

Again  the  strange  impulse  to  leap  to  the  tortured 
man's  rescue,  to  kill  his  tormentor  without  reckoning 
the  price  or  what  might  come  after,  stirred  itself  in 
Reivers'  breast,  and  again  he  joined  in  the  laughter 
to  pass  it  off. 

MacGregor  started  as  the  iron  entered  his  flesh 
and  the  movement  loosened  the  sledge.  With  weak, 
faltering  steps  he  drew  the  load  alongside  the  fire, 
where  Tammy  proceeded  to  transfer  the  frozen  chunks 
of  earth  to  the  thawing-pan. 

"Eh,  hah!  New  cattle?"  said  the  man  with  the 
prod  when  he  espied  Reivers  and  Tillie.  "Cow  and 
bull." 

"Cow — and  an  old  ox,  Joey,"  laughed  Moir.  "Has 
even  burnt  his  horns  off  with  hooch,  and  wilt  go 
well  in  the  harness  when  he's  broke." 


282  The  Snow-Burner 

"  Tis  time,"  said  Joey.  "Tuh  Scots  jackass'll  soon 
drop  in  his  tracks." 

"Not  until  I've  paid  you  out  in  full,  you  devils," 
said  MacGregor  quietly.  "I'll  give  you  an  hour  of 
living  hell  for  every  prod  you've  given  me,  you  poor 
cur." 

Joey  approached  him  and  unhooked  the  traces  from 
his  harness  with  an  air  that  told  how  well  he  was 
accustomed  to  such  threats. 

"Must  call  it  a  day,  Shanty,"  he  said,  loosening 
the  straps  that  bound  MacGregor's  hands  so  the  fore- 
arms were  free  while  the  upper  arms  remained  bound 
tightly  to  his  sides.  "Old  pit's  full  o'  smoke."  In 
bored  sort  of  fashion  be  kicked  MacGregor  into  the 
creek.  "To  your  stable,  jackass.  Day's  done." 

MacGregor,  tripped  by  the  traps  about  his  ankles, 
fell  full  length  in  the  water,  floundered  across,  and 
crawled  miserably  out  of  sight  behind  the  skin  front 
of  the  smaller  dugout.  Moir  and  his  two  henchmen 
watched  him,  jeering  and  laughing.  At  a  sign  the 
two  on  the  other  side  of  the  creek  came  across  and 
drew  close  to  their  chief. 

"And  now,  old  son,"  snarled  Moir,  swinging  around 
on  Reivers  like  a  flash,  "now,  you  slick  waster — now 
we'll  attend  to  ?ee." 


CHAPTER  XXXIX 
JAMES  MACGREGOR'S  STORY 

THE  three  men  moved  forward  until  they  were 
within  arm's  reach  of  Reivers,  and  stood  regard- 
ing him  with  open  grins  on  their  hairy  faces.  Reivers, 
reading  the  import  of  their  grins,  knew  that  they 
were  bent  upon  enjoying  themselves  at  his  expense, 
and  tried  swiftly  to  guess  what  form  their  amuse- 
ment might  take.  If  it  were  only  horse-play  he  would 
be  able  to  continue  in  the  helpless  character  he  had 
assumed.  If  it  were  to  be  rougher  than  that,  if  they 
set  out  to  break  him  in  real  earnest,  he  feared  that  his 
acting  was  at  an  end. 

Even  for  the  sake  of  the  gold  that  he  was  after 
he  would  hardly  be  able  to  submit,  humbly  and  help- 
lessly as  became  a  drunken  squaw-man,  to  their  efforts 
to  make  a  wreck  of  him.  He  calculated  his  chances 
of  coming  through  alive  if  the  situation  developed  to 
this  extreme,  and  decided  that  the  odds  were  a  trifle 
too  heavy  against  him. 

The  element  of  surprise  would  be  on  his  side,  but 
his  right  shoulder  still  was  weak  from  the  old  bullet- 
wound.  With  his  terrible  ability  to  use  his  feet  he 
calculated  that  he  could  drop  Moir  and  Tammy  with 
broken  bones  as  they  rushed  him.  To  do  that  he 
would  have  to  drop  to  his  back,  and  Joey,  the  third 
man,  wore  a  long  skinning-knife  on  his  hip.  No,  if 
he  began  to  fight  he  would  never  get  what  he  had  come 
after.  He  wiped  his  mouth  furtively  and  swayed 
from  the  knees  up. 


284  The  Snow-Burner 

"I  want  some  hooch,  mister,  that's  what  I  want," 
he  whined  shakily.  "You  promised  you'd  give  me 
a  drink  when  we  got  here,  you  know  you  did.  Haven't 
had  a  drop  since  morning.  I  wouldn't  'a'  come  if 
I'd  known  you  were  going  to  treat  me  like  this." 

Then  he  did  the  best  acting  of  his  life.  He  jumped 
sideways  and  shuddered;  he  frantically  plucked  ima- 
ginary bugs  off  his  coat  sleeve;  he  stepped  high  as  if 
stepping  over  something  on  the  ground;  his  eyes  and 
face  muscles  worked  spasmodically. 

"O-ooh!  Gimme  a  drink,"  he  begged.  "Please 
gimme  a  drink.  I  gotta  have  it." 

The  grins  faded  from  the  faces  before  him.  They 
knew  full  well  the  signs  of  incipient  delirium  tremens. 
Tammy  laughed  dryly. 

"Hast  brought  home  more  than  an  old  ox  and  a 
cow,  Shanty,"  he  said.  "Hast  brought  a  whole  me- 
nagerie. Yon  stick'll  have  tuh  Wullies  in  a  minute  if 
he's  not  liquored." 

Reivers  dropped  to  his  knees,  shuddering,  his  arms 
shielding  his  eyes  from  imaginary  beasts  of  the  bottle. 

"Take  'em  away,  boys,"  he  pleaded.  "Kill  the 
big  ones,  let  the  little  ones  go." 

With  a  snarl  Moir  leaped  to  his  sledge  and  knocked 
the  neck  off  a  bottle  of  hooch. 

"Drink,  you  scut !"  he  growled.  "I'll  have  dealings 
with  you  when  you're  sobered  up." 

Reivers  drank  and  began  to  doze.  Moir  kicked 
him  upright. 

"Get  into  the  shed  with  t'other  jackass,"  he  com- 
manded, propelling  him  toward  the  dugout  into  which 
MacGregor  had  crawled.  "And  in  tuh  morning  you 
go  to  work,  e'en  though  snakes  be  crawling  all  o'er 
'ee." 

A  faintly  muttered  curse  greeted  Reivers  as  he 
crawled  into  the  dugout. 


James  MacGregor's  Story       285 

"You  poor  curs !  What  do  you  want  with  me  now  ?" 
came  MacGregor's  voice  from  a  corner  of  the  tiny 
room.  "You  skunk — • — " 

"Easy,  MacGregor  Roy,"  whispered  Reivers  quietly. 
"It's  not  one  of  the  'skunks.' ' 

"MacGregor  Roy !"  By  the  light  that  entered  by  a 
slit  in  the  skin-flap  Reivers  could  see  the  Scotchman 
painfully  lifting  his  head  from  his  miserable  bunk,  as 
he  hoarsely  repeated  his  own  name.  "MacGregor 
Roy!  Who  are  you,  stranger,  to  call  James  Mac- 
Gregor by  his  family  name?" 

"I'm  the  man  that  Shanty  Moir  brought  in  this 
afternoon,"  whispered  Reivers. 

"I  know,  I  know,"  gasped  MacGregor  weakly.  "But 
men  do  not  call  me  MacGregor  Roy.  James  Mac- 
Gregor they  call  me,  unless — unless " 

"Unless  they  have  the  'Roy'  straight  from  the  lips 
of  your  daughter,  Hattie." 

For  a  full  minute  MacGregor  sat  stricken  speechless. 

"Man,  man !  Speak !"  The  unfortunate  man  came 
wriggling  over  and  laid  his  hands  pleadingly  on  Reiv- 
ers. "Don't  play  with  me.  Is  my  daughter  Hattie 
alive  and  well?" 

"Very  much  alive,"  replied  Reivers,  "and  as  well  as 
can  be  expected  of  a  girl  who  is  worrying  her  heart 
out  over  why  her  father  doesn't  return  or  send  her 
word." 

"Have  they  no'  guessed — has  no'  my  brother  Dun- 
can guessed  by  this  time?"  gasped  MacGregor.  "Can 
not  they  understand  that  I  must  be  dead  or  held  cap- 
tive since  I  do  not  return?  Speak,  man,  tell  me  how 
'tis  with  them!" 

Reivers  waited  until  the  poor  man  had  become 
more  quiet  before  replying  to  him. 

"You'd  better  quiet  down  a  little  MacGregor,"  he 
whispered  then.  "You  can't  tell  when  your  friends 


286  The  Snow-Burner 

might  be  listening,  and  it  wouldn't  do  either  of  us 
any  good  if  they  heard  what  we're  saying." 

"True,"  said  the  old  man  more  quietly.  "I'm  acting 
like  an  old  woman.  But  for  three  months  I've  been 
trapped  like  this,  and  my  head  fairly  swims  when  I 
hear  you  speak  of  Hattie.  How  come  you  to  know 
of  her?" 

Reivers  related  briefly  that  he  had  been  ill  and  had 
been  cared  for  at  the  MacGregor  cabin. 

"And  my  little  Hattie  is  well?  No  harm  came  to 
her  from  the  black  devil  they  sent  to  steal  her?  You 
must  know,  man,  they  taunted  me  by  sending 

"I  know,"  interrupted  Reivers;  and  he  told  how 
he  had  disposed  of  the  kidnapper. 

"You — you  did  that  ?"  MacGregor  clutched  Reivers's 
hand.  "You  saved  my  little  Hattie?" 

"None  of  that,"  snapped  Reivers,  snatching  away 
his  hand.  "I  did  nothing  for  your  little  Hattie.  Why 
should  I?  What  is  your  Hattie  to  me?  I  simply 
put  that  black-beard  out  of  business  because  I  needed 
food  and  he  had  it  on  the  sledge." 

"Yet  you're  not  one  of  the  gang  here — now?  You 
are  no'  anything  but  a  friend  of  me  and  mine?" 

"A  friend?"  sneered  Reivers.  "I'll  tell  you,  Mac: 
I'm  here  as  my  own  friend,  absolutely  nothing  else." 

"But  Hattie — and  my  brother  Duncan — they  under- 
stand about  me  now." 

"They  know  you're  either  dead  or  worse,"  was  the 
reply.  "And  they're  at  Dumont's  Camp  now,  wait- 
ing for  Moir  to  come  there  on  a  spree,  when  they  ex- 
pect to  trail  him  back  to  this  camp." 

MacGregor  nodded  his  head  weakly. 

"Aye.  Taken  the  trail  for  revenge.  No  less  could 
be  expected.  Please  Heaven,  they'll  soon  win  here. 
And  James  MacGregor  will  not  forget  what  he  owes 
you,  stranger,  for  the  help  you  gave  his  daughter, 


James  MacGregor's  Story       287 

when  the  time  of  reckoning  comes  with  Moir  and  his 
poor  curs." 

Reivers  laughed  coldly  under  his  breath. 

"You  speak  pretty  confidently,  old-times,  for  a  man 
who's  trussed  up  the  way  you  are." 

"God  willna  let  this  dog  of  a  Moir  have  his  will 
with  me  much  longer,"  said  the  Scot  firmly.  "It  isna 
posseeble." 

"  This  dog  of  a  Moir'  must  be  a  better  man  than 
you  are,"  taunted  Reivers.  "He  fooled  you  and 
trapped  you  as  soon  as  you'd  found  this  mine." 

"Did  he?"  MacGregor  flared  up.  "Shanty  Moir  a 
better  man  than  me  ?  Hoot,  no !  He  fooled  me,  yes, 
for  I  didna  know  that  he'd  got  word  to  these  three 
hellions  of  his  that  the  mine  was  here.  I  trusted  him ; 
he  was  my  pardner.  And  when  we  returned  with 
proveesions  for  the  Winter  the  three  devils  were  wait- 
ing for  us,  just  inside  the  wall,  where  the  creek 
comes  through.  Shanty  Moir  alone  never  could  ha' 
done  it.  The  three  of  them  jumped  on  me  from 
above.  I  had  no  chance.  Then  they  strapped  me. 

"They've  kept  me  strapped  ever  since.  I'm  draft 
beast  for  them.  Twice  a  day  they  feed  me.  And 
between  whiles  Shanty  Moir  taunts  me  by  playing 
before  my  eyes  with  the  dust  and  nuggets  that  are  half 
mine." 

"Oh,  well,  it  doesn't  look  to  me  as  if  there'd  be 
enough  gold  here  to  bother  about,"  said  Reivers  cas- 
ually. "It's  nothing  but  a  little  freak  pocket  by  the 
looks  of  it." 

"So  it  is.  A  freak  pocket.  It  could  be  nothing  else 
in  this  district.  'Twas  only  by  chance  we  found  it, 
exploring  the  creek  in  here  out  of  curiosity.  'Twas  in 
the  bowels  of  the  warm  spring  up  yon,  where  the 
creek  starts,  that  the  pocket  was  originally.  The 
spring  boiled  it  out  into  the  creek,  and  the  creek  washed 


288  The  Snow-Burner 

it  down  here  in  its  bed  of  sand.  The  sand  lodged  here, 
against  these  rock  walls.  There's  about  a  hundred 
feet  of  the  sand,  running  down  under  the  cliffs,  and  it's 
all  pocket.  Not  a  rich  pocket,  as  you  say,  but  Shanty 
Moir  is  filthy  with  nuggets  and  dust  now,  and  there'll 
be  some  more  in  the  sand  that's  left  to  work  over. 

"Not  a  bonanza,  man,  but  a  good-sized  fortune. 
'Twould  be  enough  to  send  my  Hattie  to  school. 
'Twould  give  her  all  the  comforts  of  the  world. 
'Twould  make  folk  look  up  to  her.  And  Shanty 
Moir,  the  devil's  spawn,  has  it  in  his  keeping." 

"And  he'll  probably  see  that  it  continues  in  his  keep- 
ing, too,"  yawned  Reivers. 

"Never!"  swore  MacGregor,  rising  to  the  bait. 
"Shanty  Moir  did  me  dirt  too  foul  to  prosper  by  it, 
and  I'm  a  better  man  than  he  is,  besides.  The  stuff 
will  come  into  my  hands,  where  it  belongs,  some  way. 
I  dinna  see  just  how  for  the  present.  But  the  stuff, 
and  my  revenge  I  will  have.  E'en  shackled  as  I  am  I'll 
have  my  revenge,  though  it's  only  to  bite  the  windpipe 
out  of  Shanty  Moir's  throat  like  a  mad  dog." 

"Huh!"  Reivers  was  lying  face  down  on  some 
blankets,  apparently  but  little  interested.  "And  sup- 
pose you  do  get  Shanty  Moir?  What  good  will  that 
do  you?  I'll  bet  Shanty's  got  the  gold  hid  where 
nobody  could  find  it  without  getting  directions  from 
him.  Suppose  you  get  him.  Suppose  you  get  all 
three  of  'em.  Shanty  Moir  being  dead,  the  nuggets 
and  dust  probably'd  be  as  completely  lost  as  they  were 
before  you  two  boys  found  the  pocket  in  the  first 
place." 

For  a  long  time  MacGregor  sat  in  his  corner  of  the 
dugout  without  replying.  Reivers  could  see  that  at 
times  he  raised  his  head,  even  opened  his  mouth  as  if 
to  speak,  then  sank  back  undecided.  At  last  he  hunched 


James  MacGregor's  Story       289 

himself  forward  inch  by  inch  to  the  front  of  the  dug- 
out and  lifted  the  flap. 

The  light  of  day  had  gone  from  the  cavern.  On 
the  sand  before  the  larger  dugout  blazed  a  brisk  cook- 
ing-fire. In  the  confined  space  the  light  from  its 
flames  was  magnified,  reflecting  from  rock-wall  and 
running  water,  and  illuminating  brightly  the  miserable 
hole  in  which  Reivers  and  MacGregor  lay. 

MacGregor  held  up  the  flap  for  several  minutes, 
studying  Reivers,  and  though  Reivers  looked  back 
with  the  look  in  his  eyes  that  made  most  men  quail, 
the  old  man's  sharp  grey  eyes  studied  him  unruffled, 
even  as  the  eyes  of  his  daughter  had  done  before. 

"By  the  Big  Nail,  'tis  a  man's  man !"  muttered  Mac- 
Gregor, dropping  the  flap  at  last.  "How  in  the  name 
of  self-respect  did  the  likes  of  you  fall  prey  to  the  cur, 
Shanty  Moir?" 

"Self-respect?"  sniggered  Reivers.  "Did  you  no- 
tice me  out  there  when  you  were  laying  your  curse  on 
Moir?" 

"Aye.  You  were  far  gone  in  liquor  then — by  the 
looks  of  you.  You'll  mind  I  say  'by  the  looks  of 
you.'  You  are  not  in  liquor  now.  That's  what 
puzzled.  A  man  does  not  throw  off  a  load  of  hooch 
so  quickly.  You  were  playing  at  being  drunk.  Now, 
why  might  that  be?" 

"To  enable  me  to  get  into  his  hole  and  leave  Moir 
thinking  I'm  a  drunken  squaw-man  without  brains  or 
nerve  enough  to  do  anything  but  sponge  for  hooch." 

"Aye?    And  your  reason  for  that?" 

"My  reason  for  that?"  Reivers  laughed  under  his 
breath.  "Why,  did  you  ever  hear  of  a  more  popular 
reason  for  a  man  risking  his  throat  than  gold?  I 
heard  the  story  of  this  deal  from  your  brother  Dun- 
can and  your  daughter.  I  need — or  rather,  I  want 
money.  Shanty  Moir  had  won  over  you  and  had 


290  The  Snow-Burner 

gold.  I  came  to  win  over  Moir  and  get  the  gold  away 
from  him.  Isn't  that  simple  ?" 

"Simple  and  spoken  well,"  said  MacGregor  calmly. 
"Will  you  answer  me  one  question:  Did  you  serve 
notice  on  my  brother  Duncan  that  you  were  out  on 
this  hunt?" 

"I  did." 

"Fair  enough  again.  A  man  has  a  right  to  take  trail 
and  do  what  he  can  if  he  speaks  out  fair.  I  take  it 
you  hardly  calculated  to  find  me  here  alive?" 

"No,  I  didn't  think  Moir  was  such  an  amateur  as 
to  take  any  chances." 

"Ah,  he  needed  a  draft  beast,  lad;  that's  why  I'm 
alive,  and  no  other  reason.  And  finding  me  here  alive, 
does  it  alter  your  plans  any?" 

"Only  a  trifle.  You  see,  I'd  made  up  my  mind  to 
bring  Moir  and  your  daughter  Hattie  face  to  face  to 
see  if  she  could  make  good  on  her  big  talk  of  taking 
revenge  for  putting  you  out  of  business.  Now  that  I 
see  you're  still  alive — well,  I  won't  let  any  little  fool- 
ishness like  that  interfere  with  the  business  I've  come 
on." 

"I  mean  about  the  gold,  man?" 

Reivers  looked  at  his  questioner  in  surprise. 

"About  the  gold?"  he  repeated. 

"Yes.  Finding  me,  the  rightful  owner  of  half  of  the 
gold,  here,  alive  and  hoping  to  win  back  with  my  share 
to  my  daughter  Hattie — does  it  make  any  change  in 
your  plans?" 

Reivers  chuckled  softly. 

"Not  in  the  slightest,"  he  replied.  "I  came  to  get 
the  stuff  that's  come  out  of  this  mine.  Take  a  look 
at  me.  Do  I  look  like  a  soft  fool  who'd  let  anything 
interfere  with  my  plans?" 

MacGregor  looked  and  shook  his  head,  puzzled. 

"I  dinna  understand  ye,  mon,"  he  said.     "I  canna 


James  MacGregor's  Story       291 

make  you  out.  By  the  look  of  you  I'd  be  wishful  to 
strike  hands  with  you  as  one  good  man  to  another ;  but 
your  talk,  man,  is  all  wrong,  all  wrong.  Half  of  the 
stuff  that's  been  taken  out  of  this  mine — Shanty 
Moir's  half — I  have  made  up  my  mind  shall  be  yours 
for  the  strong  blow  you  dealt  to  save  my  Hattie  from 
black  shame.  Will  you  na'  strike  hands  on  a  partner- 
ship like  that  between  us?" 

Reivers  yawned. 

"Why  should  I?  You're  'all  in.'  You  can't  help 
me  any.  I'll  have  to  do  the  job  of  getting  the  gold 
away  from  Moir.  I  came  here  to  get  it  all.  I  don't 
want  any  help,  and  I  certainly  won't  make  any  un- 
necessary split." 

"Man,"  whispered  MacGregor  in  horror,  "is  there 
naught  but  a  piece  of  ice  where  your  heart  should 
be  ?  Do  you  not  understand  it's  for  a  poor,  unprovided 
girl  I'm  talking?  A  man  you  might  rob;  but  have  you 
the  coldness  in  your  heart  to  rob  my  little,  unfortunate 
Hattie?" 

"  'Little,  unfortunate  Hattie !'  "  mocked  Reivers. 
"Consider  her  robbed  already.  What  then?" 

"A  word  to  Shanty  Moir  and  you're  as  good  as 
dead,"  retorted  MacGregor  hotly. 

Reivers'  long  right  arm  shot  out  and  terrible  fingers 
clutched  MacGregor's  throat.  The  old  man  wriggled 
and  gasped  and  tried  to  cry  out,  but  Reivers  held  him 
voiceless  and  helpless  and  smiled. 

"One  word  to  Shanty  Moir,  and — you  see  ?"  he  said, 
releasing  his  hold.  "Then  your  little,  unfortunate 
Hattie  would  be  robbed  for  sure." 

"Man — man — what  are  you,  man  or  devil  ?"  gasped 
MacGregor. 

"Devil,  if  it  suits  you,"  said  Reivers.  "But,  remem- 
ber, I'll  manage  to  be  within  reach  of  you  when 
Shanty  Moir's  about,  and  I  rather  fancy  Moir  would 


292  The  Snow-Burner 

be  glad  to  have  me  put  you  out  of  business.  Now 
listen  to  me.  I've  no  objection  to  your  getting  out  of 
here  alive — if  you  can.  I've  no  objection  to  your  get- 
ting your  revenge  on  Moir,  if  you  can,  provided  that 
none  of  this  interferes  with  my  getting  what  I  came 
after.  You  know  now  what  I  can  and  will  do  if  neces- 
sary. Your  life  lies  right  there."  He  opened  and 
closed  his  right  hand  significantly.  "Well,  I'll  trade 
you  your  life  for  a  little  information.  Where  does 
Shanty  keep  his  gold?" 

MacGregor  ceased  gasping.  He  began  to  laugh. 
He  leaned  over  and  laughed.  He  rocked  from  side  to 
side. 

"Man,  man !  Do  you  not  know  that  ?  That  proves 
you're  only  human!"  he  chuckled.  "You  came  out 
here,  like  a  lamb  led  to  slaughter,  to  find  where  Shanty 
Moir  keeps  his  gold.  You  were  on  the  trail  with 
Shanty.  You  had  him  where  it  was  only  one  man 
to  one.  Well — well,  the  joke  is  too  good  to  keep: 
Shanty  Moir,  day  and  night,  wears  a  big  buckskin 
belt  about  the  middle  of  him,  and  the  gold — the  gold 
is  in  the  belt!" 


CHAPTER  XL 

THE  WHITE  MAN'S  SENTIMENT 

IT  was  very  still  in  the  dugout.  Suddenly  Reivers 
leaned  forward  to  see  if  MacGregor  were  telling 
the  truth.  Satisfied  with  his  scrutiny  he  sat  back  and 
laughed  softly. 

"In  a  belt,  around  his  middle,  eh?"  he  said.  "Good 
work.  Mr.  Moir  is  cautious  enough  to  be  interesting." 

"Cautious!"  MacGregor  threw  up  the  flap  of  the 
dugout.  "Look  out  there,  man." 

Reivers  looked.  On  the  sand  directly  before  the 
door  lay  chained  a  huge,  husky  dog,  an  ugly,  starved 
brute  with  mad  eyes. 

"Try  but  to  crawl  outside  the  shack,"  suggested 
MacGregor. 

Reivers  tried.  His  head  had  no  more  than  appeared 
outside  when  the  dog  sprang.  The  chain  jerked  him 
back  as  his  teeth  clashed  where  Reivers'  head  had  been. 
He  leaped  thrice  more,  striving  to  hurl  himself  into  the 
dugout,  then  returned  to  his  place  and  lay  down,  growl- 
ing. 

"Very  cautious,"  agreed  Reivers. 

He  peered  carefully  out  toward  the  cooking-fire. 
The  fire  had  died  down  now  and  was  deserted.  By 
the  sounds  coming  from  the  larger  dugout  Reivers 
knew  that  Moir  and  his  men  were  occupied  with  their 
supper,  supplemented  by  occasional  drafts  of  liquor, 
and  once  more  he  crawled  out  upon  the  sand. 

With  a  snarl  the  great  dog  leaped  again,  his  bared 
393 


294  The  Snow-Burner 

fangs  flashing  in  the  night.  The  snarl  died  in  a  choke. 
Reivers'  long  arms  flashed  out  and  his  fingers  caught 
the  dog  by  the  throat  so  swiftly  and  surely  that  not 
another  sound  came  from  between  its  teeth.  It  was 
a  big,  strong  dog  and  it  died  hard,  but  out  there  on 
the  sand  Reivers  sat,  silently  keeping  his  hold  till  the 
last  sign  of  life  had  gone  from  the  brute's  body.  Not 
a  sound  rose  to  attract  attention  from  the  larger  dug- 
out. 

When  the  animal  was  quite  dead  Reivers  crawled 
forward  and  untied  the  chain  that  held  it  to  a  rock. 
Noiselessly  he  crawled  farther  on  and  noiselessly 
slipped  the  carcass  into  the  brook.  The  brisk  current 
caught  it  and  dragged  it  down.  Reivers  waited  until 
he  saw  the  thing  disappear  into  the  dark  tunnel  at 
the  lower  end  of  the  cavern,  then  returned  to  the  dug- 
out and  quietly  lay  down  on  his  blankets. 

"God's  blood !"  gasped  MacGregor  and  sat  silent. 

"Well,"  yawned  Reivers,  "our  friend  Moir  is  short 
one  dog." 

"You  crazy  fool!"  MacGregor  was  grinding  his 
teeth.  "Ha'  you  no'  thought  of  what  Shanty  Moir 
will  do  when  he  finds  what  you've  done  to  his  watch- 
dog?" 

"What  I  have  done?"  Reivers  laughed  his  idiotic 
squaw-man's  laugh.  "D'you  suppose  a  poor  old  bum 
like  me  could  throttle  a  man-eater  like  that  beast? 
You'll  be  the  one  to  be  blamed  for  it.  Why  should  I 
touch  Moir's  dog?  Moir  and  I  came  here  together, 
chummy  as  a  couple  of  thieves." 

"You  would  not — you  could  not  do  that?  You 
could  not  put  it  on  me?  Man,  they'd  drop  me  in 
the  river  after  the  beast,  if  you  got  them  to  believe  it." 

"Well?"  said  Reivers  gently. 

The  Scot  bit  his  lip  and  grew  crafty. 


The  White  Man's  Sentiment    295 

"Well,"  he  said,  "there'd  be  only  you  left  then  to 
do  the  dirt-hauling  for  Shanty  Moir." 

Reivers  nodded  appreciatively. 

"You  deserve  something  for  that,  Mac,"  said  he. 

He  lay  silent  for  a  few  minutes.  Then  he  chuckled 
suddenly  as  if  he  had  thought  of  a  good  joke. 

"Watch  me  closely  now,  Mac,"  he  ordered,  "and  if 
you  ever  feel  like  speaking  that  word  to  Moir,  I'll 
holler  at  you  worse  than  this." 

He  rolled  himself  to  the  front  of  the  dugout,  and 
suddenly  there  rang  out  in  the  cavern  such  a  shriek  of 
terror  as  stopped  the  blood  in  the  veins  of  all  who 
heard.  Twice  Reivers  uttered  his  horrible  cry.  Then 
he  began  to  shout  drunkenly : 

"Take  him  off,  take  him  away!  Oh,  oh,  oh!  Big 
dog  coming  out  of  the  river.  Take  him  away.  Big 
dog  swimming  in  the  river.  Take  him  away.  Help, 
help!" 

Shanty  Moir  got  to  the  front  of  the  little  dug- 
out in  advance  of  the  others.  He  came  with  a  six- 
shooter  in  his  hand,  and  the  gun  covered  Reivers, 
huddled  up  on  the  sand,  as  steadily  as  if  held  in  a 
vise.  But  Reivers  observed  that  Moir  stopped  well 
out  of  reach. 

"What  tuh !"  roared  Muir,  as  he  noted  the 

absence  of  the  watch-dog.  "What  devil's  work " 

"The  dog !"  chattered  Reivers.  "Big  dog ;  big  as  a 
house.  Came  out  of  the  river.  Tried  to  jump  on  me. 
Jumped  back  into  the  river.  Swimming — swimming 
out  there." 

Shanty  Moir  swung  the  muzzle  of  his  six-shooter  till 
it  pointed  straight  at  Reivers's  forehead.  He  did 
not  step  forward,  but  remained  well  out  of  reach. 

"Steady,  old  son,"  he  said  quietly,  "steady,  or  this'll 
go  off." 


- 


296  The  Snow-Burner 

Under  the  influence  of  the  threat  Reivers  pretended 
to  come  back  to  his  senses. 

"Gimme  a  drink,  mister,"  he  pleaded.  "I'm  seeing 
things.  I  was  sure  there  was  a  big  dog  out  there. 
I'd  'a'  sworn  I  saw  him  jump  into  the  river.  Now 
I  see  there  isn't,  but  gimme  a  drink — quick !" 

"Bring  tuh  old  sow  a  cup  of  hooch,  Joey,"  snapped 
Moir  over  his  shoulder.  "Wilt  see  about  this."  He 
turned  the  weapon  on  the  cowering  MacGregor. 
"Speak  quick,  Scotch  jackass,  or  I  pull  trigger.  What's 
been  done  here ;  where's  Tige  ?" 

"Was  it  a  real  dog?"  cried  Reivers  before  Mac- 
Gregor could  reply.  "I  saw  something — he  went 
into  the  river." 

"Speak,  you!"  said  Moir  to  the  Scotchman.  "Speak 
quick." 

"He's  telling  you  straight,"  replied  MacGregor, 
with  a  nod  toward  Reivers.  "The  dog  went  into  the 
river.  I  saw  him  go  down,  out  of  sight." 

"Out  of  sight,"  muttered  Reivers,  swallowing  the 
drink  which  Joey  had  brought  him.  "So  it  was  a  real 
dog,  was  it?  He  jumped  at  me,  and  then  he  jumped 
back,  and  I  guess  he  broke  his  chain,  because  he 
went  into  the  river  and  never  came  out." 

Moir  stepped  over  and  examined  the  rock  from 
which  Reivers  had  slipped  the  dog's  chain. 

"Tammy,"  he  said  quietly.  Tammy  came  obedi- 
ently, stopping  a  good  two  paces  away  from  Moir. 

"See  that?"  said  Moir,  pointing  at  the  rock.  Tammy 
nodded. 

"You  tied  Tige  out  for  tuh  night,  Tammy?" 

"Yes,  but " 

"And  you  tied  so  well  tuh  beast  got  loose,  and 
into  tuh  river  and  is  lost." 

"Shanty,  I  swear " 


The  White  Man's  Sentiment     297 

"Swear  all  you  want  to,  lad,"  said  Moir  and  dropped 
him  cold  with  a  light  tap  on  the  jaw. 

"Pick  him  up."  Moir's  moving  revolver  had  seemed 
to  cover  every  one  present,  but  now  the  muzzle  hesi- 
tated on  Joey.  "Carry  him  into  tuh  shack." 

As  Joey  obeyed  Moir  stepped  back  toward  the  little 
dugout,  but  stopped  well  out  of  reach  of  a  possible 
rush. 

"Old  son,"  he  said  slowly,  and  the  gun  barrel  pointed 
at  Reivers'  right  eye,  "old  son,  if  you  yell  again  to- 
night let  it  be  your  prayers,  because  you'll  need  'em. 
Dost  hear?  I  suspect  'twas  thy  yelling  scared  Tige 
into  the  river.  Wouldst  send  thee  down  after  him, 
only  I've  use  for  you  in  tuh  pits.  Crawl  in  and  lie 

still-  if  wouldst  live  till  daylight, •  you.  Wilt  pay 

for  the  loss  of  Tige,  I  warn  you  that." 

He  turned  away  and  Reivers  fell  back  on  his  blank- 
ets chuckling  boyishly.  He  was  in  fine  fettle.  The 
Snow-Burner  was  coming  back  to  his  old  form,  and  in 
the  delight  of  the  moment's  difficulties  he  had  tem- 
porarily lost  the  softening  memories  that  had  dis- 
turbed him  of  late. 

"How  was  it,  old-timer?"  he  laughed.  "Could  you 
pick  any  flaw  in  it?" 

MacGregor  shook  his  head  in  wonder. 

"I  had  a  man  go  fey  on  me  once,  up  on  the  Slave 
Lake  trail;"  he  said  slowly.  "He  let  go  just  such 
yells  as  came  from  your  mouth  now.  I'm  thinking 
no  man  could  yell  so  lest  he's  fey  himself,  or  has 
travelled  wi'  auld  Nickie  and  stole  some  of  his  music." 

"Quite  so.  Exactly  the  impression  I  wished  to 
create,"  said  Reivers.  "I  thank  you  for  your  com- 
pliment, but  your  analysis  is  all  wrong.  Complete 
control  of  your  vocal  organs,  that's  all.  You  see  I 
wished  to  let  out  just  such  a  yell.  It  was  rather  hard, 


298 


The  Snow-Burner 


because  my  vocal  organs  never  had  made  such  a  sound 
before,  and  they  protested.  I  forced  them  to  do  it. 

"The  man  with  the  superior  mind  can  force  his  body 
to  do  anything.  Understand,  Mac?  It's  the  superior 
mind  that  counts.  If  you'd  had  a  mind  superior  to 
Moir's  you'd  be  top  dog  here,  with  Moir  fetching 
bones  for  you.  As  it  is,  you're  doing  the  fetching, 
and  Moir's  growing  fat.  And  here  I  come  along, 
with  a  mind  superior  to  Moir's,  and  I'm  going  to  be 
top  dog  now  and  gobble  the  whole  proceeds  of  your 
squabbling.  The  mind,  Mac,  the  grey  stuff  in  the  little 
bone-box  at  the  top  of  your  neck,  that's  all  that  counts. 
Nothing  else.  And  I've  got  the  best  grey  matter  in 
this  camp,  and  I'm  going  to  be  top  dog  as  a  matter  of 
course." 

MacGregor  flared  up  hotly. 

"You  say,  that's  all  that  counts?"  he  said.  "D'you 
mean  to  tell  me  to  my  face  that  after  I'd  struck  hands 
with  a  man  to  be  my  partner,  as  I  did  with  Shanty 
Moir,  that  I'd  turn  on  him  and  play  him  the  scurvy 
trick  he  played  me,  just  because  I  could?  Well,  if 
you  say  that,  mon,  you  lie,  and  I  throw  the  word 
smack  in  your  teeth.  Go  back  on  my  hand-shake, 
just  to  be  top  dog  and  get  the  bones!  God's  blood! 
There's  other  things  better  than  bones,  and  there's 
other  things  that  count  besides  a  superior  mind.  How 
many  times  do  you  suppose  I  could  have  shot  Shanty 
Moir  after  we'd  found  this  mine?" 

"Not  once.  You  didn't  have  it  in  you.  You  couldn't 
do  it.  If  you  could  you'd  have  been  the  superior 
man,  and  you're  not." 

MacGregor  thought  it  over. 

"You're  right,  mon,  I  couldn't  do  it.  I  thank  God 
I  couldn't.  I'd  rather  be  the  slave  I  am  at  present 
than  be  able  to  do  things  like  that." 

"Sentiment,  Mac;  foolish,  unreasonable  sentiment." 


The  White  Man's  Sentiment     299 

"Sentiment!"  MacGregor  spoke  hotly,  then  sud- 
denly subsided.  "Yes,  you're  right,  lad,"  he  admitted 
after  awhile.  "It's  naught  but  sentiment.  I  see  now. 
It's  the  kind  of  sentiment  that  white  men  die  for,  and 
that  makes  them  the  boss  men  of  the  world.  Well,  lad, 
I  am  sorry  to  hear  you  talk  as  if  'twas  only  your 
skin  was  white.  But  I  do  not  see  you  top  dog  of 
this  camp  yet.  I'll  warrant  Shanty  Moir  didn't  allow 
you  to  slip  a  gun  or  knife  into  camp.  And  did  you 
notice  the  little  tool  he  had  in  his  hand?" 

"A  six-shooter,"  said  Reivers.  "A  crude  weapon 
compared  to  a  good  mind,  MacGregor." 

"Aye?  I'm  glad  to  hear  you  say  so,  lad,  for  I've 
only  a  mind,  such  as  it  is,  left  me  for  a  weapon,  and 
I'm  quite  sure  I  must  overcome  the  six-gun  in  Shanty's 
hand  ere  I  ever  win  back  to  lay  eyes  on  my  daughter 
Hattie." 

"Your  daughter  Hattie !"  Reivers  sat  up,  jarred  out 
of  his  composure.  "You  forget  your  daughter  Hattie; 
you  hear,  MacGregor?  And  now  shut  up.  There's 
been  enough  yawping  to-night;  I  want  to  sleep." 

He  rolled  himself  tightly  in  his  blankets.  Mac- 
Gregor crawled  miserably  to  his  corner  and  huddled 
down  to  sleep  as  best  he  could  in  his  cruel  shackles. 
The  dugout  grew  as  still  as  a  tomb.  Faint  sounds 
came  from  the  place  where  Moir  and  his  men  were 
living,  but  as  the  night  grew  older  these  ceased,  and 
a  silence  as  complete  and  primitive  as  it  knew  before 
man  bent  his  steps  thither  fell  over  the  isolated  cavern. 

Reivers  did  not  sleep.  MacGregor's  last  words 
had  done  the  work.  "My  daughter  Hattie."  Hattie 
with  the  clean,  pure  face  of  her.  Hattie  with  the 
wide  grey  eyes;  with  the  look  of  pain  upon  her. 
Curse  MacGregor!  What  business  had  he  mention- 
ing that  name  ?  Reivers  had  forgotten,  or  thought  he 
had.  He  was  himself  again.  And  then  this  old  fool — 


300  The  Snow-Burner 

curse  him!  Curse  the  whole  MacGregor  tribe.  And 
especially  did  he  curse  himself  for  being  weak  and 
foolish  enough  to  permit  such  trifles  to  interfere  with 
his  sleep. 

He  dozed  away  toward  daylight  and  dreamed  that 
Hattie  MacGregor  was  looking  at  him.  The  hard 
look  on  her  face  had  softened  a  little,  and  she  said  she 
was  glad  he  had  sent  Neopa  back  to  her  lover,  Nawa. 

" you,  get  out  of  there !" 

In  his  half-waking  Reivers  fancied  it  was  his  own 
voice  driving  the  picture  from  his  mind. 

"Get  out,  beasts,  and  get  out  quick !" 

It  was  Shanty  Moir's  voice  and  he  was  calling  to 
MacGregor  and  Reivers  to  get  up. 


CHAPTER  XLI 

SHANTY  MOIR — TEMPERANCE  ADVOCATE 

REIVERS  came  forth  from  the  dugout,  stooped 
and  shaking,  the  drunken  squaw-man's  morning 
condition  to  perfection,  but  in  reality  alert  and  watch- 
ful for  the  opportunity  he  was  seeking.  He  had  had  a 
bad  night,  and  he  was  anxious  to  have  the  job  over 
with  and  get  away  with  his  loot  to  some  place  where 
he  could  forget. 

A  surprise  awaited  him  outside.  Two  tin  plates 
loaded  with  meat  and  a  tin  cup  half  full  of  liquor 
were  placed  on  the  sand  before  the  dugout.  Ten  feet 
away  stood  Shanty  Moir,  his  six-shooter  covering  the 
two  men  as  they  emerged.  With  the  instinct  of  the 
wild  animal  that  he  was,  Moir  knew  the  value  of 
clamping  his  hold  firmly  on  his  victims  in  the  cold 
grey  of  morning. 

"Drink  and  eat,"  he  said,  satisfied  with  the  humility 
with  which  the  two  went  to  their  food.  "Eat  fast,  or 
you'll  go  into  tuh  pit  with  tuh  belly  empty." 

"I  thought  you  hired  me  for  a  cook,  mister,"  whined 
Reivers,  as  he  raised  the  tin  cup  to  his  lips.  "I  want 
to  cook." 

"Cook, 1"  sneered  Moir.  Tuh  squaw'll  do  all 

tuh  cooking  done  here.  Draft  beast  with  tuh  Scotch 
jackass,  that's  what  'ee  be,  old  ox.  Hurry  up.  Wilt 
have  a  little  of  tuh  prod?" 

Out  of  the  corner  of  his  eye  Reivers  saw  that  Mac- 
Gregor  was  eying  the  cup  of  liquor  wistfully.  Moved 

301 


3O2  The  Snow-Burner 

by  an  impulse  that  was  strange  to  him  he  took  a  small 
drink  and  held  out  the  cup  to  his  companion.  As  Mac- 
Gregor  eagerly  reached  for  it  Moir's  gun  crashed  out 
and  the  cup  flew  from  Reivers's  hand. 

"Tuh  motto  of  this  camp  is,  'No  treating/  "  chuckled 
Moir.  "Hooch  is  good  on  tuh  trail.  We're  on  tuh 
job  now.  You  get  liquor,  old  son,  because  'tis  medicine 
to  you,  and  any  hooch  drinked  here,  I  must  prescribe." 

Across  the  creek,  Tammy,  at  work  building  a  fire 
under  the  thawing-pan,  heard  his  chief's  words  and 
growled  faintly. 

"Yes,  and  'ee  prescribe  terrible  small  doses,  too, 
Shanty,"  he  muttered.  "A  good  thing  can  be  over- 
played. Hast  no  reason  for  refusing  Joey  and  me  a 
nip  before  starting  work  this  morning." 

Moir,  moving  like  a  soft-footed  lynx,  was  across 
the  creek  and  behind  Tammy  before  the  latter  realised 
what  was  coming.  From  his  position  Moir  now 
dominated  the  whole  camp,  and  a  sickly  smile  ap- 
peared on  Tammy's  mouth. 

"Aw,  Shanty !"  he  whined.  "Didst  only  mean  it  for 
a  joke.  Can  take  a  joke  from  an  old  chum,  can't  'ee, 
Shanty?" 

"Get  into  tuh  pit,  Tammy,"  said  Moir  quietly, 
pointing  with  his  gun  to  the  tunnel  where  sounds  in- 
dicated that  Joey  already  was  at  work. 

"Aw,  Shanty—" 

"Get  in!" 

Slack-jawed  with  terror  Tammy  crawled  into  the 
dark  tunnel. 

"Eh,  Joey,  ma  son!"  called  Moir  down  the  pit- 
mouth. 

"Aye?"  came  back  the  answer. 

"Dost  'ee,  too,  think  'ee  should  have  a  drink  this 
morn'?" 

"Aye,  Shanty,"  replied  the  unsuspecting  Joey. 


Shanty  Moir  303 

"Have  a  hot  one,  then !"  roared  Shanty  and  kicked  a 
blazing  log  from  Tammy's  fire  into  the  pit. 

A  mingling  of  shrieks  and  protests  greeted  its  ar- 
rival. 

"Aw,  Shanty!  Blood  of  tuh  devil,  chief!  Canst  not 
take  a  joke?" 

"Am  taking  it  now,  ma  sons,"  laughed  Moir,  and 
kicked  more  brands  down  the  tunnel. 

Gasping  and  choking  from  the  smoke  that  filled  the 
tiny  pit,  Joey  and  Tammy  essayed  to  crawl  out.  Bang! 
went  Moir's  six-shooter  and  they  hastily  retreated. 
The  tunnel  was  filled  with  smoke  by  this  time.  Down 
at  the  bottom,  choking  coughs  and  cries  told  that  the 
two  unfortunate  men  were  being  suffocated.  Moir 
waited  until  the  faintness  of  the  sounds  told  how  far 
gone  the  men  were.  Then  he  motioned  to  Reivers 
with  his  revolver.  The  smoke  was  leaving  the  pit 
by  this  time. 

"Step  down  and  drag  'em  out,  old  son,"  he  said. 
"Come  now,  no  hanging  back.  Tuh  trigger  on  this 
gun  is  filed  down  so  she  pulls  very  light." 

Reivers  obeyed,  climbing  into  the  pit  as  if  trembling 
with  fear,  and  toiling  furiously  as  he  dragged  the  un- 
conscious men  out,  though  he  could  have  walked  away 
with  one  under  each  arm. 

"Throw  water  on  'em.     Splash  'em  good." 

Ten  minutes  later  Joey  and  Tammy  were  sitting 
up,  coughing  and  sneezing,  and  trying  their  best  to 
make  Moir  believe  they  had  only  been  joking. 

"Good  enough,  ma  sons;  so  was  I,"  chuckled  Moir. 
"Now  back  to  tuh  job,  and  if  ever  you  doubt  who's  top 
man  here  you'll  stay  in  tuh  pit  till  you're  browned 
well  enough  to  eat.  Dost  hear  me  ?" 

"Aye,  Shanty,"  said  the  two  men  humbly,  and 
hurried  back  to  their  tasks. 


304  The  Snow-Burner 

"And  now,  jackass  and  old  ox,  step  over  here  and 
get  into  tub  harness,"  commanded  Moir. 

He  continued  to  hold  the  gun  in  his  hand  and 
motioned  to  the  sledge  near  the  thawing-pan.  High 
side-boards  had  been  placed  on  the  sledge,  making  it 
capable  of  holding  twice  its  former  load,  and  a  looped 
rope  supplemented  the  traces  to  which  MacGregor  was 
so  ignominiously  hitched. 

"Take  hold  of  the  rope,  old  son,"  directed  Moir. 

He  did  not  approach  as  MacGregor  resignedly  led 
the  way  to  the  sledge.  Tammy  turned  from  his 
thawing-pan  to  hitch  the  Scotchman  to  his  traces 
and  to  strap  down  his  hands.  Moir  stood  back,  the 
gun  in  his  hand,  dominating  all  three. 

"Now  into  tuh  pit;  Joey's  got  a  load  waiting,"  he 
commanded.  "And  one  whine  out  of  you,  old  ox,  and 
you  get  the  prod.  Hi-jah!  Giddap!" 


CHAPTER  XLII 

THE  SNOW-BURNER  WORKS  FOR  TWO 

WITH  MacGregor  leading  the  way,  Reivers  hum- 
bly picked  up  his  rope  and  helped  drag  the 
sledge  into  the  mine.  The  tunnel,  high  and  broad 
enough  only  for  two  men  to  crawl  abreast,  ran  at  a 
steep  slant  into  the  sand  for  probably  twenty-five 
feet.  At  its  end  it  spread  into  a  small  room  in  which 
Joey  was  at  work,  chopping  loose  chunks  of  frozen 
earth. 

One  glance  around  and  Reivers  knew  from  experi- 
ence that  this  room  had  been  the  home  of  the  pocket, 
and  that,  unless  the  signs  lied,  the  pocket  soon  would 
be  worked  out.  Judging  by  the  extent  of  the  excava- 
tion the  pocket  had  been  a  good-sized  one,  and  the 
amount  of  dust  and  nuggets  taken  from  it  undoubtedly 
would  foot  up  to  a  neat  sum.  Yes,  it  would  be  a  tidy 
fortune.  It  would  be  plenty  to  give  him  a  new  start  in 
life,  plenty  to  pay  him  for  the  trouble  he  had  gone  to, 
plenty  even  to  pay  him  for  the  baseness  of  his  present 
position. 

He  obeyed  Joey  meekly  when  ordered,  with  curses 
and  insults,  to  load  the  sledge.  He  could  have  throttled 
Joey  down  there  in  the  mine  without  a  sound  com- 
ing up  to  warn  those  above  of  what  was  happening, 
but  Moir's  conduct  of  the  morning  had  made  an  im- 
pression upon  Reivers.  A  man  who  kept  himself 
out  of  reach,  who  kept  his  six-shooter  pointed  at  you 
all  the  time,  and  who  could  shoot  tin  cups  out  of  your 
moving  hand,  was  not  a  man  to  be  despised. 

305 


306  The  Snow-Burner 

The  first  hour  of  work  that  day  convinced  Moir 
and  his  henchmen  that  their  original  unflattering  es- 
timate of  Reivers  was  correct.  Even  a  close  observer, 
regarding  him  during  that  period  of  probation,  would 
have  seen  nothing  to  indicate  that  he  was  anything 
but  what  Shanty  Moir  had  judged  him  to  be.  A  miser- 
able, broken-down  squaw-man,  without  a  will  of  his 
own,  and  only  one  ambition — to  clamour  for  as  much 
liquor  as  possible — that  was  the  character  that  Reivers 
played  perfectly  for  the  benefit  of  Moir  and  his  two 
men. 

At  first,  they  kept  an  eye  on  him,  watching  to  see 
if  by  any  chance  the  old  fool  might  be  dangerous. 
They  discovered  that  he  would  be  dangerous  if  turned 
loose — to  their  supply  of  liquor.  Beyond  that  he  had, 
apparently,  not  a  single  aim  in  the  world.  His  physical 
weakness,  they  soon  discovered,  was  exactly  what  was 
to  be  expected  of  a  whisky  bloat.  He  was  able  to  help 
haul  the  sledge-loads  of  frozen  earth  up  the  incline  of 
the  shaft,  and  that  was  all.  Even  that  left  him  pufHng 
and  trembling. 

"Is  an  old  ox,  as  'ee  said,  Shanty,  with  even  tuh 
horns  burnt  off  him  by  tuh  hooch,"  said  Joey,  after 
the  first  few  loads.  "Keep  a  little  o'  tuh  liquor  run- 
ning down  his  throat  each  day  and  he'll  be  a  good 
draft  beast  to  us.  Nothing  to  fear  o'  him.  Didst 
well  when  'ee  picked  him  out,  chief." 

They  stopped  watching  him.  He  was  harmless. 
Which  was  exactly  the  frame  of  mind  which  Reivers 
had  worked  to  create. 

MacGregor  alone  knew  how  cleverly  Reivers  was 
playing  his  part,  and  he  regarded  his  new  companion 
in  misery  with  greater  awe  and  swore  beneath  his 
breath  in  unholy  admiration.  He  had  excellent  op- 
portunity to  appreciate  Reivers's  ability  to  play  the 
part  of  a  weakling,  for  the  Snow-Burner,  when  not 


Works  for  Two  307 

observed,  caught  his  free  hand  in  MacGregor's  traces 
and  pulled  the  full  weight  of  the  heavy  sledge  as  if  it 
had  been  a  boy's  plaything. 

"Eh,  mon!"  gasped  the  weakened  Scotchman  in  re- 
lief. "I  begin  to  comprehend  now.  Tis  a  surprise 
you're  planning  for  Shanty  Moir.  Oh,  aye!  'Tis 
a  braw  joke.  But  you  maun  1'ave  me  finish  him,  man ; 
'tis  my  right.  And  I  thank  you  and  will  repay  you 
well  for  the  favour  you  are  doing  me  in  my  present 
bunged-up  condition." 

"Favour  your  eye!"  snapped  Reivers.  "It's  easier 
to  pull  the  whole  thing  than  to  have  you  dragging  on 
it.  Don't  think  I'm  doing  it  for  your  sake.  You'll 
have  a  rude  awakening,  my  friend,  if  you're  build- 
ing any  hopes  on  me." 

"I  dinna  understand  you,"  said  MacGregor  with  a 
shake  of  his  head.  "You're  different  from  any  man  I 
ever  met.  But  at  all  events,  you've  made  the  loads 
lighter,  and  I  think  I  must  have  perished  soon  had  you 
not  done  so." 

"Shut  up!"  hissed  Reivers  irritably.  "I  tell  you 
I'm  doing  it  because  it's  easier  for  me." 

His  attitude  toward  the  old  man  was  brutally  domi- 
neering when  they  were  alone  and  openly  abusive  when 
they  were  in  the  presence  of  Moir  or  the  others.  He 
showered  foul  epithets  upon  him,  pretended  to  shoul- 
der the  greater  part  of  the  work  on  him,  and  abused 
him  in  a  fashion  that  won  the  approval  of  the  three 
brutes  over  them. 

"Make  him  do  his  share,  old  sonny,"  roared  Moir. 
"Wilt  have  tuh  prod?  Joey,  give  him  tuh  prod  so  he 
can  poke  up  tuh  jackass  when  he  lags  back." 

"Don't  need  no  prod,"  boasted  Reivers.  "I  can 
handle  him  without  any  prod.  Come  on,  pull  up  there, 
you  loafer.  Think  I'm  going  to  do  it  all  ?" 

.MacGregor  on  such  occasions  would  hold  his  head 


308  The  Snow-Burner 

low  to  hide  the  gleam  in  his  eyes  and  the  grin  that 
strove  for  room  on  his  tightly  pressed  lips.  His  har- 
ness was  hanging  slack ;  Reivers  took  more  of  the  load 
upon  himself  with  every  curse  that  he  uttered. 

All  through  the  day  it  was  Reivers'  strength  that 
pulled  the  heavy  sledge  up  the  dirt  incline  of  the  tun- 
nel, and  at  night,  when  the  day's  work  was  done,  and 
MacGregor,  tottering  feebly  toward  his  bunk,  fell 
helpless  through  the  dugout's  flap,  Reivers  picked  him 
up,  laid  him  down  gently  and  placed  his  own  blanket 
beneath  his  head. 

"God  bless  you,  lad!"  whispered  MacGregor. 

"Shut  up!"  hissed  Reivers.  "I  don't  want  any  talk 
like  that." 

He  looked  down  at  the  prostrate  man  for  a  moment. 
Then  with  a  muttered  curse  he  unloosened  the  straps 
that  bound  MacGregor's  arms  to  his  sides  and  hurled 
himself  over  to  his  own  side  of  the  shack.  He  was 
very  angry  with  himself.  Pity  and  succour  for  the 
helpless  had  never  before  been  a  part  of  his  creed. 
Why  should  he  trouble  about  MacGregor? 

"I'll  have  to  strap  you  up  again  in  the  morning,"  he 
flung  out  suddenly,  "but  it  won't  hurt  to  have  your 
hands  free  for  the  night.  Shut  up — lay  still !  I  hear 
somebody  coming." 


CHAPTER  XLIII 
"THE  PENALTY  OF  A  WHITE  MAN'S  MIND" 

OH,  Snow-Burner!"  It  was  Tillie  who  came, 
bearing  the  evening  food,  and  Reivers  crept 
out  on  the  sand  to  meet  her.  "Oh,  Snow-Burner," 
she  whispered  quietly,  "I  am  weary  of  this  camp.  The 
air  is  bad,  and  the  country  is  not  open.  It  is  in  my 
heart  to  poison  Iron  Hair  as  soon  as  the  Snow-Burner 
says  we  are  ready  to  go  from  this  place." 

Reivers  stared  at  her.  A  short  while  ago  he  would 
not  have  been  shocked  in  the  slightest  degree  to  have 
heard  this — to  her,  natural  speech — fall  from  Tillie's 
lips.  But  of  late  another  woman,  another  kind  of 
woman,  had  been  in  his  thoughts,  and  Tillie's  words 
left  him  speechless  for  the  moment. 

The  squaw  continued  placidly — 

"The  Snow-Burner  comes  here  after  gold?" 

"Yes/ 

"And  when  he  has  the  gold  we  go  away?" 

"Yes." 

"Good.  The  pig,  Iron  Hair,  wears  a  great  belt  of 
buckskin  about  his  middle.  The  gold  is  in  there,  much 
of  it.  I  will  poison  him  to-night,  and  we  will  take 
the  belt  and  go  away  from  here  in  the  morning." 

Reivers  made  no  reply.  Here  was  success  offered 
him  without  so  much  as  a  move  of  his  hand.  He  need 
have  no  part  in  it,  none  at  all.  Tillie  would  bring  him 
the  gold  belt.  That  was  what  he  had  come  for;  and 
hitherto  he  had  never  let  anything  in  the  world  stand 

309 


3io  The  Snow-Burner 

between  him  and  the  gratification  of  his  desires.  Yet 
he  hesitated. 

"Is  there  more  gold  here  than  Iron  Hair  wears  in 
his  belt?"  asked  Tillie. 

Reivers  shook  his  head. 

"Then  why  wait?"  Her  whisper  was  full  of  amaze- 
ment. "It  is  not  like  the  Snow-Burner.  Was  there 
ever  a  man  who  could  make  him  do  his  will?  And 
yet  now  the  Snow-Burner  labours  for  Iron  Hair  like 
a  woman." 

"Like  a  woman?"  He  repeated  her  bold  words  in 
surprise,  while  she  sat  humbly  awaiting  the  careless, 
back-hand  blow  which  knocked  her  rolling  on  the  sand. 
"And  was  that  hand  like  the  hand  of  a  woman?"  he 
asked. 

Tillie  picked  herself  up  with  a  gleam  of  hope  in 
her  eyes.  It  was  long  since  the  Snow-Burner  had 
struck  her  strongly. 

"Oh,  Snow-Burner!"  she  whispered  proudly  as  she 
crawled  back  to  his  side.  "Why  do  we  wait?  It  is 
all  ready.  The  Snow-Burner  knows  where  the  gold 
is  that  he  came  for.  Tillie  will  do  her  share.  The 
sleep-medicine  is  sewed  in  the  corner  of  my  blanket. 
There  is  enough  to  kill  this  big  pig,  Iron  Hair,  and  his 
men  three  times  over.  Will  not  the  Snow-Burner  give 
the  sign  for  Tillie  to  put  the  sleep-medicine  in  their 
food?  Then  they  will  sleep  and  not  awaken,  and  the 
Snow-Burner  and  Tillie  can  go  away  with  the  gold. 
Was  it  not  so  that  the  Snow-Burner  wished  to  do?" 

Reivers  nodded.    That  was  what  he  wished. 

It  was  very  simple.  Only  a  nod.  After  that — 
the  sleep-medicine,  the  tasteless  Indian  poison,  the 
secret  of  which  Tillie  possessed,  and  which  she  would 
have  used  on  a  hundred  men  had  Reivers  given  the 
word. 

Yes,  it  was  very  simple — except  that  he  could  not 


The  Penalty  311 

forget  Hattie  MacGregor.  The  memory  of  her  each 
hour  had  grown  clearer,  more  torturing.  Because  of 
it  he  had  taken  the  killing  load  of  work  from  her 
father's  shoulders ;  because  of  it  he  was  growing  weak. 
He  swore  mutteringly  as  he  thought  of  it.  He  had  per- 
mitted her  memory  to  soften  him,  to  make  a  boy  of 
him.  But  now  he  was  himself  again.  Tillie's  words 
had  done  their  work.  He  turned  toward  the  squaw, 
and  she  saw  by  the  look  in  his  eyes  that  the  Snow- 
Burner  at  last  was  going  to  give  the  fatal  sign. 

'To-night,"  she  pleaded.  "Let  it  be  to-night.  It  is 
a  bad  camp  here.  The  air  is  not  good.  Iron  Hair  is  a 
pig.  Let  me  give  the  sleep-medicine  to-night;  then 
we  go  from  here  in  the  morning — together." 

She  crept  closer  to  him,  slyly  smiling  up  at  him ;  and 
suddenly  Reivers  flung  her  away  with  a  movement 
of  loathing  and  sprang  up,  tall  and  straight. 

"No,"  he  said  quietly,  "not  to-night."  And  Tillie 
crouched  at  his  feet. 

"Snow-Burner,"  she  whispered,  "I  hear  Iron  Hair 
and  his  men  talk.  They  go  away  soon.  They  take 
the  gold  with  them.  Does  not  the  Snow-Burner 
want  the  gold?" 

Reivers  looked  down  upon  her.  He  was  standing 
up,  stiff  and  proud,  as  he  should  stand,  but  as  he  had 
not  stood  since  he  had  begun  to  play  at  being  a  drunken 
squaw-man. 

"I  do  not  want  you  to  help  me  get  the  gold,"  he 
said  slowly.  "I  do  not  want  you  to  give  Iron  Hair  the 
sleep-medicine,  to-night,  or  any  night.  I  will  take  the 
gold  from  Iron  Hair  without  your  help.  I  have 
spoken." 

He  stood  looking  down  at  her,  and  Tillie,  looking  up 
at  him,  once  more  was  reminded  that  he  was  a  white 
man  and  that  the  vast  gulf  between  them  never  might 
be  bridged.  Wearily,  hopelessly,  she  rose  to  her  feet. 


312  The  Snow-Burner 

"The  Snow-Burner  has  spoken;  I  have  heard,"  she 
whispered,  and  went  humbly  back  into  the  large  dug- 
out. 

Reivers  laughed  a  small  laugh  of  bitterness  as  he 
heard  the  flap  drop  behind  her.  He  threw  his  head 
far  back  and  gazed  up  at  the  slit  of  starlit  sky  that 
showed  above  the  mouth  of  the  cavern,  and  for  once  in 
his  life  he  felt  the  common  insignificance  of  human- 
kind alone  in  the  vast  scheme  of  Nature.  He  was 
weak;  he  had  thrown  away  the  easy  way  to  success; 
he  had  let  the  memory  of  Hattie  MacGregor's  face, 
flaring  before  his  eyes  in  the  instant  that  Tillie  thrust 
her  lips  up  to  his,  beat  him. 

He  threw  up  his  great  arms  and  held  them  out, 
tense  and  hard  as  bars  of  living  steel.  He  felt  of 
his  shoulders,  his  biceps,  his  chest,  his  legs,  and  he 
laughed  sardonically. 

"Body,  you're  just  as  superior  to  other  men's  bodies 
as  you  ever  were,"  he  mused.  "Yes,  Body,  you're 
just  as  fit  to  rend  and  prey  on  others  as  ever.  But 
you're  handicapped  now.  You're  not  permitted  to  do 
things  as  you  used  to  do  them.  Body,  you're  paying 
the  penalty  of  being  burdened  with  a  white  man's 
mind." 

MacGregor  looked  up  as  Reivers  re-entered  the  dug- 
out bearing  the  evening  food.  A  tiny  fire  in  one  cor- 
ner lighted  up  the  room  and  by  its  flickering  flames 
he  saw  Reivers'  face. 

"Blood  o'  God!"  whispered  the  old  man  in  awe. 
"What's  come  over  you,  man?" 

He  rose  on  his  elbow  and  peered  more  closely. 

"Man — man — you  ha'  not  overcome  Shanty  Moir? 
You  have  not  finished  him  without  letting  me ' 

Reivers  laughed. 

"What  are  you  talking  about?  Do  I  look  as  if 
I'd  been  fighting?" 


The  Penalty  313 

MacGregor  studied  him  seriously. 

"I  donno,"  said  he  slowly.  "I  donno  that  you  look 
as  if  you  had  been  fighting.  But  you  come  in  with 
your  head  high  up,  and  the  look  in  your  eyes  of  a 
man  who  has  conquered.  That  I  do  know.  Tell  me, 
lad,  what's  taken  place  wi'  you  outside  ?" 

"None  of  your  business,"  snapped  Reivers.  "Here's 
your  supper."  And  he  returned  to  his  side  of  the 
dugout  to  sit  down  to  think. 

He  was  on  his  mettle  now.  He  had  put  to  one  side 
the  easy,  certain  way  to  success  that  Tillie  had  offered. 
Success  was  not  to  be  so  easy  as  he  had  thought. 
Thus  far  it  had  been  easy.  He  had  met  Moir,  he  had 
won  his  way  into  the  mine,  he  had  learned  where  the 
gold  was  hidden,  all  as  he  had  planned.  Remained 
to  get  the  gold  and  get  safely  away.  The  time  to 
do  it  in  was  short. 

Reivers'  experienced  miner's  eyes  had  told  him  that 
the  pocket  was  perilously  near  to  being  mined  out. 
Any  day,  any  hour  now,  and  the  pay-streak  which  they 
were  following  might  end  in  barren  dirt.  That  would 
be  the  end  of  his  opportunity.  Moir  and  his  men 
would  waste  no  time  in  the  Dead  Lands  after  making 
their  cleanup.  They  would  pack  and  travel  at  once, 
southward,  to  the  railroad.  They  would  not  permit 
even  so  harmless  an  individual  as  a  sodden  squaw- 
man  to  trail  them.  Hence,  Reivers  knew  that  he  must 
find  or  make  his  opportunity  without  waste  of  time 
and  strike  the  instant  it  was  found  or  made. 

He  had  been  unable  to  find  an  opportunity  that  first 
day.  Moir  in  his  camp  was  a  different  man  from  Moir 
on  the  trail.  He  was  the  boss  man  here,  and  Reivers 
granted  him  ungrudged  admiration  for  it.  Liquor 
was  his  master  on  the  trail ;  here  he  was  master  of  it. 
His  treatment  of  Joey  and  Tammy  in  the  morning 
had  explained  his  attitude  on  that  question  too  clearly 


314  The  Snow-Burner 

to  make  it  worth  while  to  attempt  to  entice  him  into  a 
bout  at  drinking.  Moir  was  boss  here,  boss  of  him- 
self and  others,  and  he  always  had  his  six-shooter 
handy  to  prove  it. 

Tammy  and  Joey  wore  knives  at  their  hips,  but  no 
guns.  Moir's  30.140  rifle  hung  carelessly  on  a  nail 
near  the  door  of  his  dugout.  This  had  puzzled  Reivers 
at  first.  Would  a  bad  man  like  Moir  be  so  simple  as 
to  leave  his  rifle  where  any  one  might  lay  hands  on 
it,  and  carry  a  six-shooter  in  a  manner  to  provoke 
a  gun-fight  ?  When  he  was  ordered  to  carry  a  pail  of 
water  to  the  dugout  Reivers  managed  to  take  a  care- 
ful look  at  the  rifle,  and  the  puzzle  was  explained. 
The  breech-block  had  been  taken  out  and  the  fine 
weapon  was  no  more  deadly  than  any  club  eight 
pounds  in  weight. 

His  respect  for  Moir  had  increased  with  this  dis- 
covery. Evidently  Moir  was  not  so  thick-headed 
after  all.  He  took  no  chances.  The  only  effective 
shooting-iron  in  camp  was  his  six-shooter  and,  with 
this  he  was  thoroughly  master  of  the  situation. 

In  the  first  hour  Reivers  had  noticed  that  Moir  had 
a  system  of  guarding  himself.  It  was  the  system  of 
the  primitive  fighting  man  and  it  consisted  solely  of: 
let  no  man  get  at  your  back.  At  no  time,  whether  in 
the  mine,  at  the  washing-pans,  in  the  open,  or  in  the 
dugout  did  Moir  permit  any  one  to  get  behind  him. 
He  made  no  distinction.  In  the  pit  he  stood  with 
Joey  before  him.  At  the  pans  he  worked  behind 
Tammy.  When  the  others  grouped  together  he  whirled 
as  smoothly  as  a  lynx  if  any  one  made  to  pass  in  his 
rear.  Even  when  he  sat  at  ease  in  the  dugout  with 
Tillie  he  placed  his  back  against  the  bare  stone  wall 
at  the  rear  of  the  room.  So  much  Reivers  had  seen 
during  his  first  day  in  the  camp. 


The  Penalty  315 

"Does  he  sleep  soundly  at  night?"  he  asked  sud- 
denly. 

"Who?"  asked  MacGregor. 

"Moir,  of  course." 

"Soundly  ?"  The  Scotchman  gritted  his  teeth.  "Aye 
as  soundly  as  a  lynx  lying  down  by  its  kill  in  a  wolf 
country." 

Reivers  smiled  a  grim  smile.  There  was  no  chance, 
then,  of  rushing  Shanty  Moir  in  his  sleep.  It  would 
be  harder  to  get  the  gold  and  get  away  than  he  had 
expected.  In  fact,  the  difficulties  of  it  presented  quite 
a  problem.  He  liked  problems,  did  the  Snow-Burner, 
and  his  smile  grew  more  grim  as  he  rolled  himself 
in  his  blankets  and  lay  down  to  wait,  dream-tortured 
by  pictures  of  Hattie  MacGregor,  for  the  coming  of 
daylight  of  the  day  in  which  he  had  resolved  to  force 
the  problem  to  solution. 


CHAPTER  XLIV 

THE  MADNESS  OF   "HELL-CAM?"   REIVERS 

THE  day  opened  as  the  day  before  had  opened.  A 
bellow  from  Shanty  Moir,  and  Reivers  strapped 
MacGregor  into  his  harness  again  and  they  tumbled 
out  to  their  rude  morning  meal.  Again  Moir  stood 
a  distance  away,  the  big  six-shooter  balanced  easily 
in  his  hand.  But  this  morning  Joey  and  Tammy,  over 
by  the  pit-mouth,  also  were  awaiting  the  appearance 
of  their  two  beasts  of  burden,  and  Reivers  instantly 
sensed  something  new  and  sinister  afoot.  At  the 
sight  of  MacGregor's  decrepitude,  as,  stiff  and  tot- 
tering, he  made  his  way  to  his  meal,  Joey  and  Tammy 
strove  vainly  to  conceal  the  wolfish  grins  that  appeared 
on  their  ugly  faces. 

"Aye,  Shanty,  art  quite  right.  Is  worth  his  keep 
no  longer,"  said  Tammy.  "Hast  been  a  fair  animal 
for  a  Scotch  jackass,  but  does  not  thrive  on  his  oats 
no  more." 

"One  fair  day's  work  left  in  him,"  said  Joey,  ap- 
praising MacGregor  shrewdly.  "Will  knock  off  a  little 
early,  eh,  Shanty,  so's  to  have  tuh  light  to  see  him 
swim." 

"Would  not  miss  tuh  sight  of  that  for  a  pound  of 
dust,"  replied  Shanty,  and  the  three  roared  fiendishly 
together. 

"You  poor,  misbegotten  spawn,"  said  MacGregor, 
quietly  beginning  to  eat,  eyeing  them  one  after  the 
other.  "I'll  live  to  spit  on  the  shamed  corpses  of  the 
lot  of  you." 

316 


Madness  of  "Hell-Camp"  Reivers  317 

As  the  day's  work  began,  Reivers  started  to  calculate 
each  move  that  he  and  Moir  made  with  a  view  to  dis- 
covering the  opportunity  he  was  looking  for.  All 
that  he  wished  was  a  chance  to  rush  Shanty  without 
giving  the  latter  an  opportunity  to  use  his  gun. 

The  odds  of  three  to  one  against  him,  and  Joey  and 
Tammy  armed  with  knives,  he  accepted  as  a  matter  of 
course.  But  a  six-shooter  in  the  hands  of  a  man  who 
could  use  one  as  Shanty  Moir  could  was  a  shade 
too  much  even  for  him  to  venture  against.  The  man- 
ner in  which  Moir  had  shot  up  the  tin  cup  the  morning 
before  proved  how  alert  and  sure  was  his  trigger- 
finger.  To  make  the  suspicion  of  a  move  toward  him, 
with  the  gun  in  his  hand,  would  have  spelled  instant 
ruin. 

As  he  watched  now,  Reivers  saw  that  Moir  was 
more  vigilant  than  ever.  He  kept  far  away  from  the 
pit-mouth.  The  gun  either  was  in  his  hand  or  hanging 
ready  in  the  holster.  And  when  Reivers  saw  the  first 
load  of  sand  he  understood  why. 

The  pay-streak  had  paid  out.  They  were  winnow- 
ing the  drippings  of  dust  washed  down  from  the 
pocket  now,  and  this  job  soon  would  be  done.  Moir 
was  not  taking  any  chances  of  losing  at  this  stage  of 
affairs.  The  fortune  was  in  his  grasp ;  he  would 
break  camp  and  be  off  in  the  same  hour  that  the  sand 
began  to  run  low-grade. 

He  took  no  part  in  the  work  to-day.  He  merely 
stood  and  watched.  And  Reivers  watched  back,  and 
the  hours  passed,  and  the  short  day  began  to  draw  to  a 
close,  and  still  not  the  slightest  chance  to  rush  Shanty 
Moir  and  live  had  presented  itself. 

As  the  early  twilight  began  to  creep  down  into  the 
cavern,  the  ugly  grins  with  which  Joey  and  Tammy 
regarded  MacGregor  began  to  increase.  Suddenly 


318  The  Snow-Burner 

Tammy,  washing  a  pan  of  sand  in  the  brook,  threw 
up  both  hands. 

"Not  a  trace  in  the  last  load,  Shanty !"  he  shouted. 

"All  out!"  came  Moir's  bellow,  as  if  he  had  been 
waiting  for  the  signal. 

Joey  and  Tammy  threw  down  their  tools  and  came 
over  and  stood  behind  Reivers  and  MacGregor  who 
came  up  dragging  a  loaded  sledge  behind  them. 

"Take  that  load  down  yonder!"  ordered  Moir, 
pointing  to  the  black  tunnel  into  which  the  creek  dis- 
appeared in  leaving  the  cavern. 

Tammy  and  Joey  followed,  grinning,  two  paces 
behind  the  sledge.  Moir,  gun  in  hand,  walked  ten 
feet  behind  them. 

"Whoa!"  he  laughed  when  Reivers  and  MacGregor 
had  drawn  up  against  the  cliff  beside  the  stream's 
exit.  "You  can  unhitch  tuh  old  jackass  now,  ma  sons. 
Then  over  with  it  quick." 

With  a  yelp  Tammy  and  Joey  tore  loose  MacGre- 
gor's  traces.  They  held  him  between  them,  and  in  his 
bound  and  weakened  condition  he  was  unable  to 
struggle  or  turn  around. 

Before  Reivers  could  move  they  had  hurled  Mac- 
Gregor into  the  deep  water  in  the  tunnel.  He  sank  like 
a  stone  and  the  current  sucked  him  in. 

"Good-by,  MacGregor  of  the  big  boasts!"  laughed 
Moir,  but  he  laughed  a  trifle  too  soon. 

In  the  instant  that  the  current  bore  MacGregor  into 
the  darkness  of  the  tunnel  his  face  bobbed  up  above 
the  waters.  He  looked  up,  and  looked  straight  into 
Reivers's  eyes.  It  was  not  a  look  of  appeal;  it  was 
the  same  look  that  had  been  in  the  eyes  of  Hattie  Mac- 
Gregor the  day  when  Reivers  had  left  her  cabin. 

Then  Hell-Camp  Reivers  felt  himself  going  mad. 
He  hit  Tammy  so  hard  and  true  that  he  flew  through 
the  air  and  struck  against  Moir.  The  next  instant 


Madness  of  "Hell-Camp"  Reivers  319 

Reivers  was  diving  like  a  flash  into  the  black  water, 
groping  for  MacGregor,  while  the  current  swept  him 
into  the  total  darkness. 

He  heard  the  bullet  from  Moir's  revolver  strike  the 
water  behind  him  in  the  instant  that  his  hands  found 
MacGregor;  heard  mocking  laughter  as  he  pulled  the 
old  man's  head  above  water ;  then  the  current  whirled 
him  and  his  burden  away.  It  whisked  him  down- 
stream with  a  power  irresistible.  It  threw  him  from 
side  to  side  against  the  ragged  rock  walls.  It  sucked 
him  and  the  load  he  bore  down  in  deep  whirlpools 
and  spewed  them  up  again. 

He  bumped  his  head  against  the  stone  roof  of  the 
tunnel  and  swore.  The  roof  was  a  scant  foot  above 
the  water.  He  put  his  hand  up.  The  roof  was  getting 
closer  to  the  water  with  every  yard.  Soon  there  was 
only  room  for  their  upturned  faces  above  the  water. 

Reivers  laughed  heartily.  So  this  was  to  be  the 
end!  The  joke  was  on  him.  After  all  he  had  gone 
through,  he  was  to  drown  like  a  silly  fool  through  a 
fool's  impulse. 

Presently  roof  and  water  came  together.  For  a 
moment  Reivers  fought  with  his  vast  strength,  holding 
his  own  for  an  instant  against  the  current,  hanging 
on  to  the  last  few  seconds  of  life  with  a  fury  of  effort. 
The  current  proved  too  strong.  It  sucked  them  under ; 
the  water  closed  above  them.  They  were  whirled  and 
buffeted  to  the  last  breath  of  life  in  them,  and  then 
suddenly  their  heads  slipped  above  water  and  they 
were  looking  straight  up  at  the  gray  Winter  sky. 


CHAPTER  XLV 

A  SURPRISE  FOR  SHANTY   MOIR 

REIVERS  caught  hold  of  a  spear  of  rock  the  in- 
stant his  head  came  out  of  water,  and  held  on.  He 
did  not  try  to  think  or  understand  at  first.  Sufficient 
to  know  that  he  was  alive  and  to  pump  his  lungs  full  of 
the  air  they  were  crying  for.  He  held  MacGregor 
under  his  left  arm,  and  he  rather  wondered  that  he 
hadn't  let  him  go  in  that  moment  when  he  went  under. 
MacGregor  was  beginning  to  revive,  too.  Reivers 
looked  around. 

There  was  not  much  to  see.  They  were  in  a  tiny 
opening  in  the  rocks,  a  yard  or  two  in  length.  It  was 
a  duplicate  of  Moir's  cavern  on  a  miniature  scale,  ex- 
cept that  here  the  rock  walls  were  not  high  or  impos- 
sible to  climb.  For  this  space  the  brook  showed  it- 
self once  more  to  the  sun,  then  vanished  again  under 
the  cliffs. 

"Is  it  Heaven?"  gasped  MacGregor,  only  half  con- 
scious. 

"Nearer  hell,"  laughed  Reivers. 

He  lifted  himself  and  his  burden  out  of  the  water  to 
a  resting-place  on  a  shelf  of  rock.  For  a  minute  or 
two  he  sat  looking  up  at  the  rock  walls  and  the  grey 
sky  above  them.  He  looked  down  at  the  water,  at 
the  spot  where  they  had  been  spewed  from  death  back 
into  life.  And  then  he  leaped  upright  and  laughed, 
laughed  so  that  the  rocks  rang  with  it,  laughed  so 
that  MacGregor's  senses  cleared  and  he  looked  at  his 

320 


A  Surprise  for  Shanty  Moir    321 

saviour  in  consternation.  His  laughter  was  the  un- 
controllable, heart-free  laughter  of  the  man  who  sud- 
denly sees  a  great  joke  upon  his  enemy. 

He  smote  MacGregor  between  the  shoulder-blades  so 
he  gasped  and  coughed.  He  tore  the  straps  and  har- 
ness from  his  arms,  body  and  legs,  tossed  him  up  in 
the  air,  shook  him  and  set  him  down  on  the  rock. 

"I've  got  him !"  he  said  at  last.  "Oh,  Shanty  Moir, 
what  a  surprise  you  have  coming  to  your  own  black 
self!" 

MacGregor,  with  his  senses  cleared  enough  to  rea- 
lise that  he  was  alive,  and  to  remember  how  the  miracle 
had  come  about,  said  quietly — 

"Man,  that  was  the  bravest  thing  I  ever  saw  a  man 
do." 

"What?" 

"Diving  into  that  hole  after  me." 

"Oh,  to  -  —  with  that!  That's  past.  The  past 
doesn't  count — not  when  the  very  immediate  future 
is  so  full  of  juice  and  interest  as  happens  to  be  the 
case  just  now.  I've  got  Shanty  Moir,  old-timer.  Do 
you  understand?  He's  mine  and  all  that  he's  got  is 
mine,  and  he's  going  to  be  surprised.  Oh,  how  sur- 
prised he's  going  to  be !" 

MacGregor  looked  down  at  the  two  yards  of  rush- 
ing water,  up  at  the  rock  walls  and  then  at  the  jubilant 
Reivers. 

"I  dinna  see  it,"  he  said  dryly. 

"Really?"  Reivers  suddenly  became  interested  in 
him  as  if  he  presented  a  rare  mental  problem.  "Can't 
you  make  that  simple  mind  of  yours  work  out  the 
simple  solution  of  this  problem?" 

MacGregor  shook  his  head. 

"What  I  see  is  this:  we're  alive,  and  that  only  for 
the  present.  We're  in  a  little  hole  in  the  Dead  Lands. 
Happen  we  climb  out  of  the  hole,  we  have  no  dogs, 


322  The  Snow-Burner 

food,  or  weapons.  The  nearest  camp  is  two  good 
days'  mushing,  with  good  fresh  dogs.  Too  far.  If 
I  could  manage  to  stagger  five  miles  I'd  surprise  my- 
self. There  is  not  so  much  as  a  dry  match  on  us. 
No,  I  maun  say,  lad,  my  simple  mind  does  not  see  the 
solution  of  the  problem." 

"Try  again,  Mac,"  urged  Reivers.  "Make  your 
mind  work.  What  do  we  need  to  make  our  condition 
blessed  among  men;  what  do  men  need  to  be  well- 
fitted  on  the  Winter  trail?  You  can  make  your  mind 
do  that  sum,  can't  you?" 

"We  need,"  replied  MacGregor  doggedly,  "dogs, 
and  food,  and  fire,  and  weapons." 

"Correct.  And  now  what's  the  next  thought  that 
your  grey  matter  produces  after  that  masterpiece?" 

"That  the  nearest  place  where  we  may  obtain  these 
things  is  too  far  away  for  us  to  make,  unless  happen 
we  meet  some  one  on  the  trail,  which  is  not  likely." 

"Pessimism !"  laughed  Reivers.  "Too  much  caution 
stunts  the  possibility  of  the  mind.  Interesting  demon- 
stration of  the  fact,  with  your  mind  as  an  example." 
He  turned  and  smote  with  the  flat  of  his  hand  the  stone 
wall  from  under  which  they  had  just  emerged.  "What's 
the  other  side  of  those  rocks,  Mac?" 

"Shanty  Moir  and  his  six-shooter." 

"And  dogs,  and  food,  and  matches,  and  cartridges, 
and  gold,  everything,  everything  to  make  us  kings 
of  the  country,  Mac!  And  they're  ours — ours  as 
surely  as  if  we  had  'em  in  our  hands  now." 

"I  dinna  see  it,"  said  MacGregor. 

"Pessimism  again.  How  can  Moir  and  his  gang 
get  out  of  their  camp?" 

"Up-stream,  by  the  creek,  of  course." 

"Any  other  way?" 

"There's  the  way  we  came — but  they  do  not  know 
that." 


A  Surprise  for  Shanty  Moir    323 

"Correct,  and  when  we've  plugged  up  that  single 
exit  they  can't  get  away  from  us,  Mac,  and  then  we've 
got  'em!" 

MacGregor's  eyes  lighted  up,  then  he  grew  dour 
again. 

"We  have  got  'em,  if  we  plug  up  the  river,  I  see," 
he  admitted,  "but  when  we  have  got  them,  what  good 
does  it  do  us  ?  What  are  you  going  to  do,  then  ?" 

"That's  the  surprise,  Mac;  I  won't  tell  even  you." 
He  looked  swiftly  for  a  way  up  the  rock  walls  and 
found  one.  "The  first  question  is :  Do  you  think  you 
can  climb  after  me  up  that  crevice  there?" 

"I  could  climb  through  hell  and  back  again  if  it 
would  help  in  getting  Shanty  Moir." 

"All  right.  I  can't  quite  give  you  hell,  but  I'll 
give  Shanty  Moir  an  imitation  of  it  before  he's  much 
older.  Come  on.  We've  got  some  work  to  do  before 
it  gets  dark." 

He  led  the  way  into  the  crevice  he  had  marked 
for  the  climb  up  from  the  hole  and  boosted  MacGregor 
up  before  him.  It  was  slow,  hard  work,  but  MacGre- 
gor's weak  hold  slipped  often,  and  he  came  slipping 
down  upon  Reivers'  shoulders.  In  the  end  Reivers  im- 
patiently pulled  him  down,  took  him  on  his  back  and 
crawled  up,  and  with  a  laugh  rolled  himself  and  his 
burden  in  the  snow  on  top  of  the  cliffs.  A  few  rods 
away  smoke  was  rising  through  the  opening  above 
Moir's  camp,  and  at  the  sight  of  it  MacGregor's 
numbed  faculties  came  to  life. 

"Lemme  go,  man!"  he  pleaded  as  Reivers  caught 
him  as  he  staggered  toward  the  opening.  "It's  my 
chance,  man.  I  can  kill  the  cur  with  a  rock  from  up 
here." 

"Save  your  strength ;  I've  got  use  for  it,"  said  Reiv- 
ers. "Can  you  walk?  All  right.  Come  on,  then,  and 
don't  try  to  get  near  that  gap." 


324  The  Snow-Burner 

Taking  MacGregor  by  the  hand  he  led  the  way 
carefully  around  the  big  opening  till  they  came  to  the 
opposite  side  of  the  mass  of  rocks,  where  the  creek 
entered  the  tunnel  by  which  Moir  reached  his  camp. 
Crawling  and  slipping,  they  made  their  way  down 
until  they  stood  beside  the  bed  of  the  stream. 

"Now  to  work,  Mac,"  said  Reivers,  and  seizing 
a  rock  bore  it  to  the  tunnel's  mouth  and  dropped  it 
into  the  water. 

"Aye,  aye!"  chuckled  MacGregor,  as  he  understood 
the  significance  of  this  move.  "We'll  wall  the  curs  in." 

For  half  an  hour  they  laboured.  Reivers  carried 
and  rolled  the  heaviest  rocks  he  could  move  into  posi- 
tion across  the  tunnel,  and  MacGregor  staggered  be- 
neath smaller  pieces  to  fill  up  the  chinks.  When  their 
work  was  finished  there  was  a  rock  wall  across  the 
mouth  of  the  tunnel  which  it  would  have  been  almost 
impossible  to  tear  down,  especially  from  the  inside. 

It  was  growing  dark  when  the  task  was  completed, 
and  Reivers  nodded  in  great  satisfaction. 

"That'll  hold  'em  long  enough  for  my  purpose,  and 
we  just  made  it  in  time,"  he  said.  "Now  come  on 
up  the  mountain  again,  and  then  for  the  surprise." 

"The  surprise,  man  ?"  panted  MacGregor  as  he  toiled 
up  the  rocks.  "What  are  you  going  to  do?  Tell 
me  what's  in  your  head?" 

"Hush,  hush!"  laughed  Reivers,  pulling  him  up  to 
the  top.  "Your  position  is  that  of  the  onlooker.  It 
would  spoil  it  for  you  if  you  knew  what  was  going  to 
happen." 

"An  onlooker — me — when  it's  a  case  of  getting 
Shanty  Moir?  Don't  say  that,  lad.  Don't  leave 
me  out.  He's  mine.  You  know  that  by  all  the  rights 
of  men  and  gods  it's  my  right  to  get  him.  Give  me 
my  just  share  of  revenge." 

"Shut  up!" 


A  Surprise  for  Shanty  Moir    325 

They  were  nearing  the  brink  of  the  opening.  Reiv- 
ers' hand  covered  MacGregor's  mouth  as  they  leaned 
over  and  looked  down  upon  the  unsuspecting  men  in 
the  cavern  below. 

In  the  shut-in  spot  night  had  fallen.  On  the  sand 
before  the  dugout  Tillie  was  cooking  over  a  brisk 
fire,  going  about  her  work  as  calmly  as  if  nothing  of 
moment  had  happened  during  the  afternoon.  Near  by, 
Moir  and  Joey  were  packing  the  dog-sledge  and  repair- 
ing harness,  evidently  preparing  to  take  the  trail  after 
the  evening  meal.  Tammy  sat  by  the  fire,  holding 
together  with  both  hands  the  pieces  of  his  nose  which 
Reivers'  blow  had  smashed  flat  on  his  face. 

Reivers  scarcely  looked  at  the  men,  but  began  to 
scan  the  walls  for  a  way  to  get  down.  The  walls 
slanted  inwardly  from  the  top,  and  at  first  it  seemed 
impossible  that  a  man  could  get  safely  into  the  cavern 
without  the  aid  of  a  rope.  But  presently  Reivers  saw 
that  for  thirty  feet  directly  above  the  large  dugout 
the  rocks  were  ragged  enough  to  afford  plenty  of  holds 
for  hands  and  feet. 

The  walls  were  nearly  fifty  feet  high.  If  he  could 
reach  to  the  bottom  of  this  rough  space  he  would  be 
hanging  with  his  feet,  ten  or  twelve  feet  above  the 
cavern  floor. 

"Good  enough,"  he  said  aloud.    "It's  a  cinch." 

"A  cinch  it  is,"  breathed  MacGregor  softly.  "We'll 
roll  up  a  pile  of  rocks  and  kill  'em  like  rats  in  a  pit. 
But  you  maun  leave  Shanty  to  me,  lad,  I " 

"Shut  up !"  Reivers  thrust  the  Scotchman  back  from 
the  brink.  "Do  you  want  me  to  go  after  the  harness 
for  you?  I  told  you  that  your  job  was  to  be  the  on- 
looker. I  settle  this  thing  with  Shanty  Moir  myself." 

"But  man " 

"Moir  kicked  me.    Do  you  understand  ?    He  placed 


326 


The  Snow-Burner 


his  dirty  foot  on  me.  Do  you  see  why  I'm  going  to 
do  it  by  myself?" 

"Placed  his  foot  on  you  ?  God's  blood !  What  has 
he  done  to  me — robbed  me,  made  an  animal  of  me, 
stabbed  me  with  a  prod!  Who  has  the  better  right 
to  his  foul  life?" 

"It  isn't  a  case  of  right,  but  of  might,  Mac,'? 
chuckled  Reivers.  "I've  got  the  better  might.  There- 
fore, will  you  give  me  your  word  that  you'll  refrain 
from  interfering  with  my  actions  until  I've  paid  my 
debt  to  Mr.  Moir,  or  must  I  go  back  after  the  harness 
and  strap  you  up?" 

"Cruel " 

"Promise!" 

"I  promise,"  said  MacGregor.  "But  it's  wrong, 
sore  wrong.  I  protest." 

"All  right.  Protest  all  you  want  to,  but  do  it 
silently.  Not  another  word  or  sound  out  of  you  now 
until  the  job's  done." 

Together  they  crawled  back  to  the  brink  above 
the  large  dugout  and  peered  down  into  the  darken- 
ing cavern.  In  a  flash  Reivers  had  his  mackinaw 
and  boots  off.  The  cooking-fire  was  deserted.  No 
one  was  in  sight.  Moir  and  his  men  and  Tillie  were 
at  supper  in  the  dugout,  and  Reivers's  chance  had  come. 
He  swung  himself  silently  over  the  brink  and  hung 
by  a  handhold  on  the  rock. 

"Don't  interfere,  Mac,"  he  said  warningly.  "Not 
till  I've  paid  Shanty  Moir  for  the  touch  of  his  foot." 


CHAPTER  XLVI 

A   FIGHT   THAT   WAS   A    FIGHT 

WITH  a  twist  of  his  body  he  threw  his  stockinged 
feet  forward  and  caught  toe-holds  on  the 
rough  surface  of  the  wall.  Next  he  released  his  right 
hand  and  fumbled  downward  till  he  found  a  solid 
piece  of  protruding  rock.  Having  tested  it  thoroughly 
he  let  go  his  holds  with  both  feet  and  left  hand  and 
dropped  his  full  weight  into  the  grip  of  his  right. 
Above  him,  MacGregor,  with  his  face  glued  to  the 
brink  of  the  opening,  gasped  twice,  once  because  he 
was  sure  Reivers  was  dropping  straight  to  the  bottom, 
and  again  when  his  right  hand  took  the  shock  of  his 
full  weight  without  loosening  its  grip. 

Reivers  heard  and  looked  up  and  smiled.  Then  he 
swung  his  feet  inward  again,  secured  another  hold, 
lowered  his  right  hand  to  another  sure  grip,  and  so 
made  his  startling  way  down  the  inwardly  slanting 
cliff. 

At  the  third  desperate  drop  MacGregor  drew  back, 
unable  to  stand  the  strain  of  watching.  Had  Reivers 
been  able  to  see  on  top  of  the  cliff  he  would  have 
laughed,  for  the  Scotchman  was  down  on  his  knees  in 
the  snow,  earnestly  praying. 

Finally  MacGregor  summoned  up  courage  to  peer 
down  once  more.  Then  he  knew  his  prayers  had  been 
answered.  Reivers  was  hanging  easily  by  his  hands, 
directly  above  the  front  of  the  large  dugout,  and 
his  feet  were  less  than  ten  feet  above  the  bottom 

327 


328 


The  Snow-Burner 


of  the  cave.  MacGregor  gave  a  whoop  of  thanks- 
giving and  gathered  to  him  an  armful  of  stones. 

For  a  moment  Reivers  hung  there,  looking  down  and 
appraising  the  situation.  He  loosened  his  hold  until 
his  whole  weight  hung  on  the  ends  of  his  fingers. 

"Come  out  and  fight,  Shanty!"  he  bellowed  sud- 
denly. "Come  out,  you  cheap  cur,  and  fight  like  a 
man!" 

Nothing  loath  Moir  came,  responding  like  a  wild 
animal  on  the  instant  of  the  weird  challenge  from 
above.  Like  a  wild  man  he  came,  six-shooter  in  hand, 
tearing  the  front  of  the  dugout  away  in  his  rush,  and 
Reivers  dropped  and  struck  him  neatly  the  instant 
he  appeared. 

It  was  a  carefully  aimed  drop.  Landing  on  Moir's 
neck,  Reivers  would  have  killed  him.  He  had  no 
wish  to  kill  him — yet.  He  landed  on  Moir's  shoulders 
and  the  six-shooter  went  flying  away  as  the  two 
bodies  crashed  together  and  dropped  on  the  sand  with  a 
thud. 

Reivers  was  up  first.  It  was  well  that  he  was. 
Tammy  and  Joey  were  only  a  step  behind  Moir.  Like 
wildcats  they  clawed  at  Reivers  and  like  wildcats  they 
rolled  on  the  ground  when  his  fists  met  them.  Then 
Moir  was  up  on  his  feet.  His  senses  were  a  little  dull, 
but  he  saw  enough  of  the  situation  to  satisfy  him.  Be- 
fore him  was  something  to  fight,  to  rush,  to  annihilate. 
And  he  rushed. 

Up  on  the  cliff  the  maddened  MacGregor  yelped 
joyously,  a  stone  in  each  hand,  as  Reivers  leaped  for- 
ward to  meet  the  rush  and  struck.  Shanty  Moir  had 
expected  a  grapple,  and  Reivers'  fist  caught  him  full  in 
the  mouth  and  threw  him  back  on  his  shoulders  a 
man's  length  away. 

When  Moir  arose  then,  the  lower  part  of  his  face 
had  the  appearance  of  crushed  meat,  but  he  growled 


A  Fight  That  Was  a  Fight     329 

through  the  blood  and  rushed  again.  Reivers  struck, 
and  Moir's  nose  disappeared  in  a  welter  of  blood  and 
gristle.  He  struck  again,  but  Moir  came  on  and 
locked  him  in  his  huge  arms. 

Joey  and  Tammy  were  up  now.  Their  knives  were 
out.  They  saw  their  chance  and  leaped  forward  to 
strike  at  Reivers'  back.  With  his  life  depending  upon 
it,  the  Snow-Burner  swung  Moir's  great  body  around, 
and  Joey  and  Tammy  stayed  their  hands  barely  in  time 
to  save  plunging  their  knives  into  the  back  of  their 
chief. 

Growling  a  wild  curse,  MacGregor  dropped  two 
stones  the  size  of  his  head.  One  struck  Joey  on  the 
shoulder  and  sent  him  shrieking  with  pain  into  the 
dugout;  the  other  dropped  at  Reivers'  feet.  With  a 
yell  he  hurled  Moir  from  him  and  snatched  up  the 
stone.  Joey,  reading  his  doom  in  the  Snow-Burner's 
eyes,  backed  away  into  the  brink  of  the  brook.  The 
heavy  stone  caught  him  in  the  chest.  Then  he  struck 
the  water  with  a  splash  and  was  gone. 

But  Moir  was  up  in  the  same  instant  and  his  arms 
licked  around  from  behind  and  raised  Reivers  off  his 
feet.  The  hold  was  broken  as  suddenly  as  it  was 
clamped  on.  They  were  face  to  face  again,  and  face 
to  face  they  fought,  trampling  the  sand  and  the  fire 
indiscriminately.  Each  blow  from  Reivers  now 
splashed  blood  from  Moir's  face  as  from  a  soaked 
sponge,  and  at  each  blow  MacGregor  shouted  wildly: 

"That  for  the  kick  you  gave  him,  Shanty!  That 
for  the  dirt  you  did  me!" 

The  dogs,  mad  with  terror,  fled  up  the  brook,  met 
the  stone  wall  and  came  whining  back.  They  cowered, 
jammering  in  fright  at  the  terrible  combat  which  raged, 
minute  after  minute,  before  them. 

Out  of  the  dugout  softly  came  stealing  Tillie.  A 
knife,  dropped  by  Joey  or  Tammy,  gleamed  in  the 


330  The  Snow-Burner 

light  of  the  fire.  She  picked  it  up.  With  a  smile  of 
great  contentment  on  her  face  she  crept  noiselessly 
toward  the  struggling  men.  They  were  locked  in  a 
clinch  now,  and  with  the  smile  widening  she  moved 
around  behind  Moir's  broad  back.  The  knife  flashed 
above  her  head.  Reivers  saw  it.  With  an  effort  he 
wrenched  an  arm  free  and  knocked  the  knife  away. 

"Keep  away !"  he  roared,  springing  out  of  the  clinch. 
"This  is  between  Iron  Hair  and  me." 

Up  on  the  cliff  MacGregor  groaned.  In  freeing 
himself  Reivers  had  hurled  Moir  to  one  side,  and 
Moir  had  dropped  with  his  outstretched  hands  nearly 
touching  his  six-shooter,  where  it  had  fallen  when 
Reivers  had  dropped  upon  him.  Like  the  stab  of  a 
snake  his  hand  reached  out  and  snapped  it  up. 

"Your  soul  to  the  devil,  Shanty  Moir!"  shrieked 
MacGregor  and  hurled  another  stone. 

His  aim  was  true  this  time.  The  stone  struck  Moir 
squarely  on  his  big  head  and  drove  his  face  into  the 
sand.  He  never  moved  after  it. 

Reivers  looked  up.  On  the  brink  of  the  cliff  Mac- 
Gregor on  his  knees  was  chanting  his  war-cry,  his 
thanks  that  vengeance  had  not  been  denied  him. 
Reivers  smiled. 

"That's  a  good  song,  Mac,  whatever  it  is!"  he 
laughed,  when  the  maddened  Scotchman  had  grown 
quieter.  "But  the  fact  remains  that  you  disobeyed 
my  orders  and  interfered." 

"Aye!  I  interfered.  I  hurled  a  stone  and  sent  the 
black  soul  of  Shanty  Moir  back  to  his  brother  the 
devil!"  chanted  MacGregor.  "But,  lad,  I  did  not  in- 
terfere until  you'd  paid  him  in  full — until  you'd  paid 
double — for  the  kick  he  gave  you.  Three  of  them 
there  were,  and  they  were  armed  and  you  with  bare 
fists!  God's  blood!  Never  since  men  stood  up  with 
fist  to  fist  has  there  been  such  fighting.  One  disabled, 


A  Fight  That  Was  a  Fight     331 

and  two  men  dead!  Dead  you  are,  you  poor  pups! 
And  I  can  tell  by  the  way  you  lived  where  you're 
roasting  now. 

"Ah,  ah!  I  ha'  seen  a  man  fight;  I  ha'  seen  what 
I  shall  never  forget,  and,  poor  stick  that  I  am  com- 
pared to  him,  I  ha'  e'en  had  a  hand  in  it  myself.  Man, 
man!  Would  you  grudge  me  a  little  bite  after  your 
belly's  full  of  battle?" 

Reivers  spoke  quietly  and  coldly. 

"Go  down  and  tear  out  as  much  of  the  stone  wall 
as  you  can.  I'll  take  the  heavy  stones  from  this  side." 
He  turned  to  Tillie.  "Take  the  big  belt  from  Iron 
Hair  and  give  it  to  me.  Then  make  all  ready  for  the 
trail.  We  march  to-night." 

And  Tillie,  as  she  harnessed  the  dogs,  spat  upon  Iron 
Hair,  the  beaten. 


CHAPTER  XLVII 

THE   SNOW-BURNER    PAYS 

AND  now  the  Snow-Burner  has  his  gold.  He 
has  robbed  the  great  Iron  Hair  in  his  own 
camp.  Great  is  the  Snow-Burner!  Now  he  has  the 
gold  which  he  longed  for.  Now  he  is  rich.  The 
white  men  will  bow  down  to  him.  Great  is  the  Snow- 
Burner!" 

Tillie  crouched  beside  Reivers  as,  an  hour  later,  he 
stood  on  the  edge  of  the  Dead  Lands,  and  triumphantly 
crooned  the  saga  of  his  success.  The  gold  belt  of 
Shanty  Moir  hung  heavily  over  his  shoulder,  its  great 
weight  constantly  reminding  him  of  the  fortune  that  it 
contained.  The  dogs  were  held  in  leash,  eager  to  be 
quit  of  the  harsh  rock-chasms  through  which  they  had 
just  travelled,  and  to  strike  their  lope  on  a  trail  over 
the  open  country  beyond. 

MacGregor  sat  wearily  on  one  side  of  the  sledge. 
The  exertions  and  excitement  of  the  afternoon  had  ex- 
hausted him  in  his  weakened  condition.  He  sat 
slumped  together,  only  half  conscious  of  what  was 
going  on.  In  a  moment  he  would  be  sound  asleep. 

And  Reivers  had  the  gold.  He  had  succeeded.  He 
had  the  gold,  and  he  had  a  supply  of  food  and  a 
strong,  fresh  team  of  dogs  eager  for  the  trail.  All 
that  was  necessary  was  to  turn  the  dogs  toward  the 
south.  Two,  three,  four  days'  travelling  and  he  would 
strike  the  railroad.  And  the  railroad  ran  to  tide- 
water, and  on  the  water  steamboats  would  carry  him 
away  to  the  world  he  had  planned  to  return  to. 

332 


The  Snow-Burner  Pays         333 

It  was  very  simple,  as  simple  as  had  been  Tillie's 
scheme  for  getting  rid  of  Moir.  But  he  couldn't  do 
it.  He  didn't  want  to  do  it.  He  wanted  to  do  just 
one  thing  now,  above  all  others,  and  that  was  what  he 
set  out  to  do. 

He  stood  down  and  strapped  the  belt  of  gold  around 
MacGregor's  middle.  MacGregor  was  sound  asleep 
now,  so  he  placed  him  on  the  sledge  and  bound  him 
carefully  in  place.  Tillie's  chant  died  down  in  aston- 
ishment. 

"We  take  the  old  one  with  us?"  she  asked. 

"We  do,"  said  Reivers.  "Hi-yah!  Together  there! 
Mush,  mush  up!" 

To  Tillie's  joy  he  turned  the  dogs  to  the  northwest, 
in  the  direction  of  the  camp  of  her  people.  The  Snow- 
Burner  was  lost  to  her;  she  knew  that,  when  he  had 
refused  her  help  with  Shanty  Moir;  but  it  was  some- 
thing to  have  him  come  back  to  the  camp. 

Reivers,  driving  hard  and  straight  all  night,  brought 
his  team  up  the  river-bed  to  Tillie's  camp  in  the  morn- 
ing. MacGregor  was  out  of  his  head  by  then,  and  for 
the  day  they  stopped  to  rest  and  feed.  Reivers  sat 
in  the  big  tepee  alone  with  MacGregor  and  fed  him 
soft  food  which  the  old  squaws  had  prepared.  In  the 
evening  he  again  tied  the  old  man  and  the  belt  of 
gold  to  the  sledge  and  hitched  up  the  dogs.  Tillie 
had  read  her  doom  in  his  eyes,  but  nevertheless  she 
came  out  to  the  sledge  prepared  to  follow. 

"You  do  not  come  any  farther,"  said  Reivers  as 
he  picked  up  the  dog-whip. 

Tillie  nodded. 

"I  know.  With  gold  the  Snow-Burner  can  be  a 
great  man  among  the  white  women.  Will  the  Snow- 
Burner  come  back — some  time?" 

"I  will  never  come  back." 

"Ah-hh-hh!"    Tillie's   breath    came   fiercely.     "So 


334  The  Snow-Burner 

there  is  one  white  woman,  then.    If  I  had  known " 

But  Reivers  was  whipping  and  cursing  the  dogs  and 
hurrying  out  of  hearing. 

MacGregor,  clear-headed  from  the  rest  and  food, 
but  still  weak,  lifted  his  head  and  looked  around  as 
the  sledge  sped  over  the  frozen  snow. 

"A  new  trail  to  me,  lad,"  he  said.  "Where  to, 
now?" 

"On  a  fool's  trail,"  laughed  Reivers  bitterly,  and 
drove  on. 

Next  morning  MacGregor  recognised  the  land 
ahead. 

"Straight  for  Dumont's  Camp  we're  heading,  lad," 
he  said.  "Is  it  there  we  go  ?" 

"Yes." 

They  came  to  Dumont's  Camp  as  night  fell.  Reiv- 
ers halted  and  made  sundry  enquiries. 

"In  a  shack  half  ways  between  here  and  Fifty  Mile," 
was  the  substance  of  the  replies. 

"Hi-yah!  Mush,  mush  up!"  and  they  were  on  the 
trail  again. 

At  daylight  the  next  day,  from  a  rise  in  the  land, 
he  saw  the  shack  that  had  been  designated.  Smoke 
was  rising  from  the  chimney,  and  a  small  figure  that 
he  knew  even  at  that  distance  came  out,  filled  a  pail 
with  snow  and  went  in  again. 

Reivers  stopped  his  dogs  some  distance  from  the 
shack.  He  threw  MacGregor,  gold  belt  and  all,  over 
his  shoulder  and  went  up  to  the  door  and  knocked. 
For  a  second  or  two  he  smiled  triumphantly  as  Hattie 
MacGregor  opened  the  door  and  stood  speechless  at 
what  she  saw.  Then  he  bowed  low,  laid  his  burden 
on  the  floor  and  went  out  without  a  word. 

The  dogs  shuddered  as  they  heard  him  laugh  com- 
ing back  to  them. 

"Hi-yah,  mush!" 


The  Snow-Burner  Pays         335 

He  drove  them  furiously  into  a  gully  that  shut  out 
the  sight  of  the  shack  and  sat  down  on  the  sledge. 
The  dogs  whined.  It  was  the  time  for  the  morning 
meal  and  the  master  was  making  no  preparations  to 
eat. 

"Still,  you  curs !"  The  whip  fell  mercilessly  among 
them  and  they  crouched  in  terror. 

The  time  went  by.  The  sun  began  to  climb  upward 
in  the  sky.  Still  the  man  sat  on  the  sledge,  making  no 
preparations  for  the  morning  meal.  The  memory  of 
the  whip-cuts  died  in  the  dogs'  minds  under  the  grow- 
ing clamour  of  hunger.  They  began  to  whine  again. 

"Still !"  The  master  was  on  his  feet,  but  the  whip 
had  fallen  from  his  hand. 

Down  at  the  end  of  the  gully  a  small  figure  was 
coming  over  the  snow.  She  was  running,  and  her 
red  hair  flowed  back  over  her  shoulders,  and  she 
laughed  aloud  as  she  came  up  to  him.  The  pain  was 
gone  from  Hattie  MacGregor's  lips,  and  her  whole 
face  beamed  with  a  complete,  unreasoning  happiness, 
but  the  pride  of  her  breed  shone  in  her  eyes  even 
unto  the  end. 

"Well,  well !"  sneered  Reivers.  "Aren't  you  afraid 
to  come  so  near  anything  that  pollutes  the  air?" 

She  laughed  again.  She  did  not  speak.  She  only 
looked  at  him  and  smiled,  and  by  the  Eve-wisdom  in 
the  smile  he  knew  that  his  secret  was  hers.  He  felt 
himself  weakening,  but  the  Snow-Burner  died  hard. 
He  tried  to  laugh  his  old,  cold  laugh,  but  the  ice  had 
been  thawed  in  it. 

"What  do  you  want?"  he  sneered.  "I'm  not  a  good 
enough  man  for  you.  Why  did  you  come  out  here?" 

"Because  I  knew  you  would  not  go  away  again," 
she  said,  "and  because  now  I  know  you  are  a  good 
enough  man  for  me." 


336 


The  Snow-Burner 


"You  red-haired  trull!"  He  raised  his  hand  to 
strike  her. 

She  did  not  flinch;  she  merely  smiled  up  at  him 
confidently,  contentedly.  Suddenly  she  caught  his 
clenched  fist  in  her  hands  and  kissed  it.  With  a  curse 
Reivers  swung  around  on  his  dogs. 

"Hi-yah!    Mush,  mush  out  of  here!" 

Out  of  the  gully  into  the  open  he  kicked  and  drove 
them.  He  did  not  look  back.  He  knew  that  she  was 
following. 

She  followed  patiently.  She  knew  that  there  was 
nothing  else  for  her  to  do.  She  had  known  it  the 
first  day  she  had  looked  into  his  eyes.  He  was  her 
man,  and  she  must  follow  him. 

So  she  trudged  on  behind  her  man  as  he  forced  the 
tired  dogs  to  move.  She  smiled  as  she  walked,  and 
the  wisdom  of  Eve  was  in  her  smile.  She  had  reason 
to  smile,  for  the  Snow-Burner  was  driving  straight 
toward  the  little  shack. 


THE  END 


